


Young One

by demigirl17



Series: Little one series [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 45,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigirl17/pseuds/demigirl17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft, John, and a very unwillingly Sherlock are off to the planet Goria. When the planets councilmen contemplate leaving the Republic, diplomacy might not be in the boys' favor. With tensions rising between Mycroft and Sherlock about the way of raising a padawan, distractions are ensured. Which will come as a problem when an old enemy returns to seal the deal. Did you miss me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Because I cannot, brother."

Mycroft rested casually against the long pillars outside of his little brother's quarters. Sherlock was refusing for the third time to accept the mission laid out for them by the council. Smugly Mycroft wondered how much longer he should let Sherlock fight him before bringing the younger Jedi to heel. His brother's arms were crossed, his brow furrowed with another forming argument.

"John's shoulder still pains him, he still has night terrors, I am exiled, and my brand, Mycroft. I cannot go back."

Mycroft pushed himself from the marble slowly, relishing his moment over his brother. "The council commands it, Sherlock. Yoda himself has ordered you with me."

His brother turned, dramatic as ever, his lip held between his teeth.

"I refuse it."

"I could order you as the higher rank."

Sherlock cast him a dark look. "I'd like to see you try."

"Master Yoda, then," Mycroft said arrogantly. "You and he have always had a close relationship."

His brother ran both hands through his hair, mussing his already unruly curls.

Sherlock.

If only the elders of their village had named him something different. Something to please their father, Sherlock never would have known the sting of the Sith's wrath. Sherlock may have never left their mother's side, he could have grown up happy.

Despite their differences, that thought often pained him.

"Sherlock, we won't let them see your brand. Your identity will be concealed, I only need a fellow Gorian for your nature and for your past. Moriarty seeks our home, we must convince Goria to side with the Republic."

"It is not me I worry for." The look Sherlock gave him was near to pleading. "Bastards cannot have bastards. John stinks of me, he is all but mine. No don't look at me like that," Sherlock snapped as his brother raised two unconvinced eyebrows. "By their standards, he is my cub. He is only my padawan to me, you know this."

Oh yes.

He knew exactly what the padawan was to his brother.

"Our planet does not enjoy outsiders, you must come. On this mission you shall be Master Sigerson Rathbone, your padawan need not accompany us if you are concerned."

Sherlock snorted. "You do not know John."

He turned away, neither accepting nor declining the mission. He stalked back into his quarters, the door slamming back in Mycroft's face.

The master sighed.

He took it as acceptance.

Very well.

oOo

His nine year old was peeping over their sofa.

"Little one," Sherlock said with soft annoyance. John's blue eyes were doing their best to appear innocent, but excitement was weedling its way into his face. At last the padawan dropped the façade and ran to his teacher breathlessly.

"You accepted it!" The boy tugged eagerly at his sleeves. "You accepted Master Mycroft's mission!"

"Not willingly." Sherlock ran a hand over the growing boy's hair. John frowned at his master's displeasure, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Sherlock's side. The knight allowed his padawan's comfort for only a moment before twisting away.

"Have you completed your lessons for the day, John?"

The boy shifted uneasily.

That was…odd.

His padawan sucked in a deep breath. "Master Plo would like to speak to you about my performance in sabers' class today."

If the boy was doing something wrong why hadn't Mycroft told him?

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, resulting in a guilty look from his apprentice.

So it was treachery then.

Taking a small step closer, he pulled the child closer. His sharp gaze ran over the boy's tense figure. He gave a small sniff and stepped back.

"Stars, John. Again?"

"It wasn't my fault, Master! Honest!"

John had managed to, once again, destroy one of the temples training sabers. It was obvious from the stench of burning metal and ash under the boy's ears. He had been forbidden from using his full light saber and had successfully broken six trainers before this. Sherlock gave the boy a small shake.

"If you continue down this path-"

"I know, I know, I know," his padawan waved a dismissive hand.

"I had one hundred and forty four by the time I was knighted. Do try not to pass me, padawan." Sherlock bent to nip the boy's ear rather roughly and rose to his standing position. John danced around his feet.

"So we can go? To see your home planet, I mean. That's so wizard, Master!" John flopped on their sofa, his pack was discarded neatly in the corner next to his boots and robe. The child stretched himself out with a soft yawn. "You could see your mum again."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and made the boy scoot. "You live in delusion, little one. I have been exiled from my home planet, you know this. If do see my mother, it will not be for a grand reuniting."

"I dunno, Master." John laid his head in Sherlock's lap and gazed up at him. "If I saw my mother again, I'd at least say hi."

"Would you extend the same courteousy to your father?" Sherlock caressed the blond hair tenderly.

"No," the boy said darkly.

Sherlock bent forward to kiss the smooth brow. "It would not be wise to see any who would know my name, John."

His padawan accepted the answer with grace. Truthfully the boy was probably overjoyed to see his master's home world. John was rare like that, delighting in what no one else would. His padawan fell asleep in his lap shortly after.

There was an eerie feeling about the mission he could not shake.

oOo

John was eagerly packing his things.

The idea of a mission with both Master Mycroft and Master Sherlock sent him into a joyous frenzy. He stuffed Mako in his bag last, even though he was now nine years old his companion still proved useful.

Master had an unusual hard time saying no when the boy was curled around his bear, giving him pleading looks.

Plus his mother had given it to him, and he was not keen to part with it.

Even if he was nine standard.

John shouldered his pack happily and ran to find his master in the doorway. A look of pure distain was plastered across his face. John felt his grin sliding slowly away, Sherlock did not comfort him.

"I suppose a long lecture about doing what I say is unnecessary," he said glumly.

"I can remember the last one," John grumbled back.

With a stiff nod, Sherlock guided his padawan from their quarters. His less than delightful mood never changed, in fact the closer they came to the hangar bay, the darker his mood became. They trudged silently down the grand hall side by side, John noticed his mentor's stiffening posture. John stopped him suddenly.

"Can't you tell Master Mycroft no?" John asked quietly. "You don't want to go, and he shouldn't make you."

Sherlock sighed. "My brother has gotten the whole council behind him, John. It is unlikely that I can refuse."

"Why do they want you so bad?" John asked as they started walking once more. His teacher simply shrugged.

Master always shrugged when he was done talking. It drove John bantha mad sometimes.

Mycroft was waiting for them, leaning boredly against their shuttle. Sherlock scowled and stalked pass him without so much as a greeting. John rolled his eyes and bowed deeply to his second favorite master. Mycroft bowed elegantly in response.

"Still not taking after Sherlock, I see," the master said coolly.

"He's in a bad mood," John said with another eye roll. "There are times when he can be polite."

"I shall have to take your word for it, youngling."

John cringed. He did not hate the word, because Jedi did not hate.

But he really, really, really disliked it.

"Come along, John," his master called from the ship. The boy bounded up the stairs two at a time, with excitement clear in his face. His master may not have been happy about their destination, but flying was always John's favorite past time.

"Master, may I sit with the pilot?" he begged.

"Little one," his master scolded halfheartedly, "put your things away first. I grow weary of cleaning up behind you."

John snorted. "Yes, Master. Forgive my uncleanness, and the experiments I leave lying about the quarters."

Sherlock smirked and pulled his child closer with a guiding hand on the back of the young neck. John peered up at his teacher, mirroring his eyebrow quirk.

"Brat," Sherlock said fondly.

The boy reward him with a grin of flat white teeth, Sherlock carded his hand through the blond hair almost happily. John pressed his head into the strong stomach, relishing his master's comfort and sighed. "Feeling less useless, Master?"

It earned him a low chuckle. "Less useless, my wayward brat."

The unspoken word, attachment, breezed through the Force, but by now the warning was simply ignored. They were long since pass that.

"Go," Sherlock dismissed his padawan with a firm tug of the ear. The boy leaned into his master's leg briefly, before obediently scampering off to sit with the polit.

He passed an angry looking Mycroft in the hall.

Uh oh.

oOo

Honestly, his brother could not take a joke.

"I reek of him!"

"Calm yourself, brother mine. It will only last the flight. Besides I thought you admired Dooku." Sherlock had spent the day before concocting a vial of Dooku's scent and had left it in his brother's quarters to smash as well as scent him. If he was going to be miserable, so was Mycroft.

Mycroft openly seethed. "He is not someone I wish to stink of!"

Sherlock threw his hands in the air angrily, "Well Dooku smells better than your sire! Besides it won't last. You've chosen your scent, it's as good as in stone."

"My sire? Our father," Mycroft said pointedly.

Sherlock shook his head slightly.

No. No, his father had passed on four years ago.

And Sherlock had taken his scent.

"It will wear off," Sherlock repeated in a bored fashion. Adults' scents could not change permanently, they might be temporarily masked, but not changed. A child's scent could be changed several times until the age of twenty standard. It made it imperative that John smelt like him as often as possible.

Sherlock's fingers drummed listlessly on his chair's arms. Contemplating going to find John, he began raising from his chair. The boy's curiosity in ships often brought his teacher silent glee. The questions the boy asked were creative and genuine, the questions of a child with a bright future.

His brother's strong arm stopped him.

"I was wondering, since you were so worried about John being thought of as your cub, if you would let me scent him," Mycroft said smugly.

Absolutely-

"It isn't as though you are overly attached to the boy."

Sherlock growled low. "And when they wonder why my padawan stinks of you?"

"You forget, brother mine, I smell like Dooku now. If I scent him, he would smell of neither of us."

He hated how clever his brother was.

John should not have been used against him, especially by another Jedi. Mycroft was using the boy purely for revenge about his early deeds, it would not be stood for.

"Move, Mycroft. He has a better chance smelling like me than your former master." Sherlock shoved pass his brother, trying to curb his rage.

That insufferable, low-life, unintelligent, hundark.

John sat in the co-pilot's seat, running his hands over different controls.

Helping.

His master mused silently from the doorway as his padawan was taught the different gears, dials, and switches. The flesh of the boy's lip tucked under his teeth in thought. With his mind occupied the youngster didn't sense his master, until he was being lifted up and sat in a lap. Sherlock dismissed the pilot curtly and turned to the controls.

"Take the wheel," he said lightly.

John looked at him nervously.

"Just like an overgrown speeder," Sherlock assured.

"Yeah, okay," the boy's voice wavered as he obeyed. Sherlock began pointing out different dials and switches. The child was merely happy there were no pedals to humiliate him with their distance. Sherlock held the wheel over John's tiny hands, telling him the slightest move would change the ships direction. John frowned, but kept his hands steady. Sherlock released him.

"Eyes forward, if we hit something Mycroft will lecture me until our oxygen runs out."

His padawan giggled. Sherlock placed a soft kiss on the smooth temple, his child's brow furrowed in concentration. "I'm doing it, Master!"

"Clearly, little one. I am not blind."

Sherlock let himself lean forward and adjust the speed to a higher setting. John grimaced, but felt Sherlock's confidence in him over their bond. The knight was holding him around the waist, carefully scanning the area ahead. He had to make sure John was not flying into any danger zones.

But his padawan did admirably.

Sherlock let the boy pilot for two hours before growing bored. He hefted the child pilot out of the seat and alerted the professional pilot to come back. Objection flowed through the Force as his padawan eyed the controls, Sherlock lay a warning hand on the healthy shoulder.

"John."

With a small scowl the child followed him out reluctantly.

"Jedi, do not brood, youngling," his master corrected sternly.

"I have known a Jedi to sulk before, Master," his padawan said dangerously close to arguing.

Sherlock swept the boy over his shoulder, jolting him roughly until the indignant squawks became giggles. He was half temped to throw the boy in the air, but noted the low ceilings. He was content to hold his child for a moment.

"Master?"

"What is it, little one?"

"I am hungry…"

Of course he was.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a kriffing twenty hours before they landed.

By the end of it Master was nearly crawling up the walls, and John was grateful when at last they touched down. Sherlock nearly threw himself from the ship, earning a scolding from Master Mycroft. John examined the pair skeptically.

They had barely any similarities. Their looks were insanely off, at least Harry and he had the same noses and eyes. Sherlock and Mycroft shared only their eye color, but even their personalities were different. Mycroft had the composure of a Jedi master, Sherlock was…not that.

Sherlock helped John with his pack, while ignoring Mycroft's lecture. A large hand linger in the boy's hair and scratched his scalp affectionately, despite his best efforts the padawan gave a small mew. Mycroft threw his hands in the air before stalking from the ship. The air was several degrees warmer on the outside of stifling shuttle. John took a deep, thankful, breath.

John peered curiously up at his master, but the older Jedi said nothing. Instead he guided John from the ship where two robed figures stood to greet them, only their eyes were visible. All three Jedi bowed low, Mycroft and Sherlock came up first before John was allowed to straighten himself. The two robed figures swept elegant curtsies.

They were women!

John tugged on Sherlock's sleeve until the older man looked down at him. It must have been against the code as well, because Mycroft scowled at him. John bit his lip with annoyance, he simply had a question. "Master, do we have to wear such garments?"

Traditionally they would dawn the clothes of the planet they occupied.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, padawan. These are women of Goria's high council, they are priestesses."

"Oh," the boy wrinkled his nose. The priestesses made a low growling noise that John would later find out translated to "come". He followed closely at his master's side, curbing the instinct to take Sherlock's hand.

Master would never forgive him if he proceeded in front of Mycroft.

They were led down a grand stair case, however only one person could walk down at a time. John was pushed in front of Sherlock, the knight was followed closely by a priestess.

A low growl came from beneath the shawls, Sherlock responded in kind.

"What'd she say?" John asked nervously, skidding to a halt at the end of the stair case. He walked backwards so he could keep his eyes trained on his master.

"She was complimenting me on my strong cub," Sherlock said irritably.

"Oh," the boy replied gleefully. His grip tightened around the leather handles of his pack.

"John, it is dangerous for them to assume-"

"I know, I know. But you corrected her right? So it's okay," John dismissed shortly. He turned his body away from his master, ears flushed pink. There was a moment of obstinate silence. A slight tug on his pack made him turn to a face a kneeling Sherlock.

"You know how I feel about you," the knight kept his voice low, his eyes darting around the compound swiftly. "But bastards cannot have bastards, John. They would kill you on the spot, with no hesitation if they thought you were my cub."

John touched his master's shoulder gently. Sky blue eyes caught ocean grey, John leaned forward to nip his master's ear affectionately. Sherlock growled approvingly, running his chin over the boy's fair hair.

"We should get going, young one."

John was nudged towards a shuttle.

"Yes, Master."

oOo

His brother thought him blind.

It would take far more than blindness to see the attachment in the boy's face and his master's eyes. Sherlock was kneeling in front of the child, a gesture in itself that proclaimed humility. One of the strongest knights in temple humbled himself at the feet of a child. John barely noticed of course. He assumed the knight knelt to see him better.

Sherlock had rarely knelt for anyone.

Including Lestrade.

A gentle hand was rested on the boy's cheek. They were all but beaming at each other, and when Sherlock rose he left his hand in John's hair.

He hadn't seen that look on his brother's face in four years.

He had never seen that look on the child's face before.

John had always been shy, quick to latch on to his senior instructors legs and hide as a youngling. Friends had come easy to him, but the boy seemed at a lost with what to do with them. Mycroft had watched the boy stumble around blindly his first few years at temple. He had been so different from Anthea, perhaps that was why Mycroft felt drawn to the boy.

Despite laying claim on John at the age of four, he was still snatched away by the council.

At first it hadn't been a terrible obstacle, Sherlock wouldn't be able to stand having a child follow him around. John would be too domestic for him and therefore too dull. It was simply a waiting game.

John would fail his evaluations and be taken from Sherlock.

But as the time drew near to fail them, an improbable hindrance was flung in his path.

The two Jedi had bonded.

And John clearly adored his younger brother.

He observed the pair closely as he stepped foot in their loading shuttle. John was ignoring all Jedi protocol and trying desperately to clamber onto Sherlock's shoulders. His brother should have scolded the youngling, but instead held the boy upside down at an arm's length. Feet were flailing unceremonially in front of the priestesses, but the offense went unnoticed by the giggling pair. Righting himself in his master's arms, the child lunged and finally achieved his goal of sitting astride Sherlock's lengthy shoulders. The young knight smiled as he dipped forward and dumped the boy off.

John laughed.

So did the priestesses.

Was nothing sacred anymore?

oOo

Maybe they shouldn't have been playing so hard.

Master Mycroft sat in his seat, arms crossed, eyes livid.

John swallowed the lump stuck in his throat and forced himself to breathe. Sure he had started the tussle, but Master had followed without too much instigation. And the priestess had laughed too, so there was no real reason Mycroft should be mad.

But he was still miffed.

John muttered his apologies with his head bowed low, Master said nothing, of course. The knight stared out the shuttle window far away. John wondered if he really saw anything, or was simply in his mind palace. Sherlock took his knee gently.

"Stop thinking so hard," he muttered gruffly.

"You can't get mad at me for thinking," John scowled.

"You are doing it rather loudly, young one."

Master refused to call him "little one" in front of Mycroft, which had the young padawan bothered. He turned his face away from the knight with a small huff of annoyance. Sherlock glanced at the angry child and rolled his eyes. His long fingers unzipped the pack on John's shoulders and pulled out a cold sandwich. He laid it in the boy's lap with a command to eat.

John obeyed hungrily.

Sherlock knew how irritable his padawan could get when he forgot to eat.

John found himself leaning tiredly against Sherlock's arm for the rest of the journey. Master Mycroft cleared his throat more than once, prompting Sherlock to correct the slouching Jedi. His master shrugged, unbothered by his padawan's disrespect.

"He is young," Sherlock excused. "And he has been up for twenty hours, let him rest."

"A Jedi must be alert all times, your padawan-"

"He's only nine years old, as you so often remind me. He is younger than most, Mycroft. Move him if you wish, but I will let him rest," Sherlock said dismissively. John would have liked to nestle closer, but knew that would send the Gorian master over the edge.

Mycroft rolled his eyes angrily, but did not separate them.

Upon reaching their destination, the priestesses spoke directly to Mycroft.

"Your quarters have been prepared, Master Holmes. Shall we take you there now?"

"Yes, thank you," Mycroft replied easily. The shuttle pulled into a long satiation, halting just before a bumpered stop. The priestesses led the trio of Jedi from the shuttle and through a large crowd, John pressed deep into Sherlock's side.

He was nervous and honestly quite tired.

Sherlock reached down for the boy's shoulders, guiding him in front of his long legs. The boy tilted his eyes upwards towards his master's, Sherlock gave him a small wink. A yawn was the only response John could give.

"We will be able to rest shortly, young one," Sherlock promised.

"Yes, Master," the boy murmured tiredly. He wished Master would lift him, or at least slow his pace. John stumbled swiftly after the two masters, observing that his teacher's home world was covered in thickets as far as the eye could see. A great howl erupted from his right, causing the boy to practically throw himself into his master's leg. The tall knight snickered.

"A wrywolf," Mycroft stated with amusement. "Is that not interesting, Master Rathbone?"

"I was three, Master Holmes," Sherlock replied brusquely. John cast Sherlock a questioning look and was given a glare. John placed his hands on his hips with a small huff of annoyance that caused Sherlock's lips to twitch. The boy was pulled close to the strong side as they drew near their temporary quarters. John nearly whooped with relief as the door was opened revealing a small living space. Sherlock took his shoulder lightly as they swept final bows to the departing priestesses.

"John," Sherlock called to his protégé, "come. We will find your bed."

John padded eagerly behind Sherlock into a side room. Two beds sat against separate walls, one large bed meant for Sherlock and one small one meant for John. Sherlock was frowning in the doorway as John began preparing his bed with his sleeping robe and teddy bear. The knight turned towards Mycroft, who merely raised a cool eyebrow.

"Oh," Sherlock said softly. "I am undercover, not you."

"You're very observant, brother mine. Yes, I am still known as a bastard on this planet."

Sherlock scowled. "Take the bed, I will take the rags."

John tugged at his mentor's sleeve persistently. "Where is Master Mycroft's bed?" the innocent child asked in a hushed voice.

Sherlock grimaced before explaining that children born out of wedlock did not receive beds on his planet. Even as young infants.

"But where do the babies-?"

"With their mothers," Sherlock said gently.

He did not mention that, it was only if the elders deemed the babe worth living. He pulled his child close as the young mind mulled it over. John frowned up at his master, but remained silent, his head slightly shaking. Sherlock nodded shortly, laying a large boot over his padawan's smaller one. John smirked with a raised eyebrow, prompting his master to shove him backwards onto his bed.

"To bed with you, my brat."

Sherlock turned to his brother and handed the older Jedi John's pack. He reached around to gently tug his padawan's braid and turned to find a suitable sleeping place in the other room. Horror dawned over the boy's face as he realized his master would be sleeping away from him.

Since the first time he was injured.

"Master, I-" the boy began to panic.

Master motioned for him to follow him out of the room, away from Mycroft. John staggered behind him silently, head hung low. Sherlock couldn't just leave him at night, his night terrors had yet to cease plaguing him. He wouldn't dare. Sherlock crouched down in front of his child, the boy all but ran into his arms. Soft, secure hands ran through the boy's hair, John hid himself against his teacher's chest.

"Master, can't you stay in the same room? Please?"

"Little one, we have discussed this. You can have either your bear or me at night. It will be good practice for you, Mycroft will be with you all night. You don't need me." Sherlock pressed the child gently to his shoulder.

"But I want you…"

"Little one," Sherlock steeled himself, "I am not your father, nor your mother. I cannot go on coddling you when you have fully healed. You are a Jedi padawan, John."

"Yes, Master," the boy whimpered.

"Mycroft will be with you, worried one," Sherlock soothed. "And I will come if you need me, but only if you need me."

John nestled under Sherlock's chin. "Will you still tuck me in, Master?"

"Yes, little one."

Thank the Force.

oOo

Mycroft observed the child preparing for bed.

John was dressed in Sherlock's old tunic, which pooled around his thin ankles and swished as he brushed his teeth. His younger brother had volunteered to sleep on the pull of rags instead of the soft bed prepared for him. Sherlock fluffed and twisted the spread into a comfortable sleeping area.

John peeped his head from the bathroom door with his shy smile. His eyes flickered to where Sherlock was settling.

"Master, I'm done!" his padawan called.

His brother waited for the child to come to his room, before he followed closely behind him. The boy trotted happily behind his teacher, throwing Mycroft a swift goodnight, the ignorant child did not even grace him with a turn around.

Mycroft meditated peacefully on the floor, knees crossed, head bowed. The closed door was no obstacle for the master as he poured his attention to the child and the teacher.

It wasn't eavesdropping.

Jedi did not eavesdrop.

oOo

He did not tremble.

He was a Jedi padawan, they did no such things.

John was lifted into the air and cradled closely, his eyes squeezed shut against Sherlock's bare shoulder. Sharp teeth grazed the child's earlobe as he was rocked into a state of near sleep. The boy fought against the pleasant sleepiness, earning a frown from his master.

"Little one," Sherlock whispered gently.

The boy maneuvered his head so it was tucked neatly under his master's chin, he was working brilliantly on Sherlock's heart. A teddy bear was pulled across the room, lifted easily with the controlled Force and plopped into the boy's small arms. Sky blue eyes lifted their gaze to Sherlock's. The knight's resolve began to crumble around his clever padawan, he cleared his throat unwillingly.

"It is time for bed, John."

"Stay," his child pleaded a final time.

"Your bear or me, little one," Sherlock said firmly. Gently he lay the boy into his small bed, softly securing blankets around the small figure. He drew his robe over the comforter, delighted that even at night John would smell of him. Small eyes watered up at him as he leaned to kiss the smooth brow, his apprentice sniffled. "John, I am just in the other room," Sherlock informed the boy sharply.

His child's expressions made him feel guilty.

Absurd. He was raising the boy correctly.

The knight kissed the young forehead firmly, as sign of goodnight, and rose steadily to depart. John shoved off the covers swiftly, bounded to the end of the bed, and flung himself wholeheartedly into his master's arms. "Goodnight, Master," he muttered.

Sherlock smiled against his boy's cheek and nodded slightly.

"Good night, little one."


	3. Chapter 3

The boy was whimpering rather loudly.

Small limbs flailed beneath thick blankets made of cotton from the bear-sheep. His brother's robe was bunched up under the child's head, John sniffed at it fiercely.

What was the boy's problem?

"Master," he cried.

Oh. A nightmare.

The Jedi protocol didn't teach masters how to soothe padawan's fears. Perhaps that was why Anthea only ever came to him once. It hadn't gone particularly well. There was an awkward pat, an assurance of safety, and he had sent the twi'lek girl back to sleep.

What more could she have hoped for?

John gave a small cry of terror and nearly rolled from his bed.

Their room door opened a crack, revealing a grey eye scanning the area. It found the thrashing boy after only a second, and the door then opened full, revealing all of Sherlock. The knight crossed the tiled floor and stooped low next to the boy. The whimpering ceased as the boy was woken up by a gentle shake to the shoulder.

"Little one."

"Master?"

"Come here."

"But Master Mycroft-"

There was a small squeaking noise of yielding springs, followed by a relieved sob. Mycroft opened his eyelids just enough to see Sherlock carrying the boy from the room. John's arms were tightly wrapped around the knight's neck, so much so that Mycroft wondered his younger brother could breathe.

"You got hurt," the boy whispered painfully.

"It was the past, John. Let it go."

The boy's sniffles persisted, despite his master's wishes.

"I hate it when he hurts you," the boy muttered as the door closed softly.

"Hurt, John. Past tense," his master corrected sternly.

Mycroft rolled to his side.

Really, his brother should have made the boy sleep in his own bed.

oOo

"Little one."

It was a firm statement, one that promised no other warning would be given.

John inched away farther, his bare feet tip-toeing silently across the packed dirt of the forest floor. Jedi stealth took years to master. Unfortunately John had to learn it in five minutes. His heart pounded so heavily in his chest, it was a wonder Master could not hear it.

 _You promised._ The boy projected heated Huttese curse words across his bond.

_Your delusions of grandeur ill befits you, little one. Bring it to me. Now._

_No! There was six, Master! Two for me, two for Mycroft, and-_

_Child!_

Sherlock leapt out in front of his padawan, gathering the squealing boy against his chest, and promptly ate the spiced pastry from his hand. John huffed angrily. "Fat."

"That was my second one, brat!" Sherlock growled, shaking his child roughly.

"Which you said I could have!"

"John, Jedi do not lie," Sherlock scowled mockingly.

"And as soon as I have been knighted I will cease, and not accuse you of pastry theft, Master mine."

Sherlock grinned at his sarcastic wretch, kissed his temple, and released him to the ground. John's small hands splayed over his stomach, the boy turned pouting eyes to Sherlock in attempts to gain more breakfast. The knight rolled his eyes and produced a small bag of berries for the boy's pleasure. They were snatched greedily.

"John," the warning.

"Thank you."

His nine year old politely offered him a handful of his berries. Sherlock accepted them gratefully, his hand finding its resting place on John's head. The boy's brow furrowed.

"How come you do that so much, Master?" he asked curiously.

Sherlock pondered briefly, stealing another berry from its pouch. "One day, little one, you will find this gesture annoys you. Until then I shall take every opportunity to delight you."

John chewed slower. "It won't annoy me, Sherlock."

"You are still young," his master smiled.

John wanted to be lifted. At once. Scooped up and held tightly. Sherlock shouldn't feel like he would ever burden John. He turned his face into Sherlock's leg, imploring for attention in the way only a child could.

Only his child could.

Sherlock bent forward, with every intention to heft the boy up, when Mycroft circled to their location. The master eyed the near cuddling pair wearily, Sherlock felt annoyance well in his chest.

Mycroft was a constant, scowling shadow over his shoulder. Sherlock had a child of his own, he would not be rebuked like one. John bowed politely, taking a step back from Sherlock's warmth. The knight frowned as his brother approached.

"Sherlock-"

"Don't," the younger man heard the stern tone and raised a silencing hand. Not in front of the boy.

Mycroft released a tired sigh. "Our father seems to have found his way to high council and will be present at this first meeting. I shall go alone. I doubt he remembers your face, still less chance of…discovery that way."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, silently agreeing with his brother. It would be unwise to attend a meeting with the man who had given Sherlock every one of his traits, save his ears and eyes.

"However, John may attend," Mycroft said smoothly.

Sherlock had never had the desire to punch someone more fiercely in his life. The Force tensed between the two brothers, neither swaying towards one or the other. Sherlock made a low growling noise.

"I am not sending John to those wolves without me," Sherlock snapped. John nodded loyally, already stepping closer to Sherlock. The knight took his child's shoulders and sent his brother a challenging gaze. "I will take him to our next meeting, brother. That is when he can observe your diplomatic skills."

"Very well," his brother amended easily. John visibly sagged with relief.

There was no way he would have been able to deny Mycroft if the master had persisted. The very idea felt wrong, Mycroft was a higher rank. Technically even higher than Sherlock, but the knight would never consent to admitting it. Plus the idea of a whole day with only Mycroft terrified the boy.

He nearly stepped into Sherlock at the thought.

"It is however, John's choice. Is it not, brother mine?"

John froze.

Could he refuse Mycroft?

It would be a great disrespect to not go with the master.

John bowed his head.

"I did have a lesson planned for the boy, Mycroft," Sherlock said, squeezing on the boy's slender shoulders. "A lesson in patience." The knight raised his eyebrows with mock interest.

John felt the snort slide between his lips before he could stop it.

Sherlock glanced down at him angrily.

Mycroft impressed.

"Master, I-"

Sherlock gave the slim shoulders a punishing crush.

"I need him with me, Mycroft."

Master was saving his sore buttocks.

"Do you not want him to learn diplomacy, Master Rathbone?"

"Patience first."

Mycroft nodded his permission.

Thank you, Master Sherlock!

oOo

The blond boy leaned back against his chest.

Two rods listed lazy in the stream, bobbing up and down with the current slowly. The aquatic life avoided the sinking hooks, some would splash close, teasingly nudging the bobbers but never biting. Both Jedi's feet were tickled by the rising tide, John's feet were completely covered at the highest point.

Sherlock hated every second of it.

Except for John.

It was an old lesson, one Lestrade had forced him to perform when he was young. The silver haired knight had sat with him for twenty-three hours before the boy had sat perfectly still.

John squirmed in his lap.

"Master, none of them are biting," the boy grumbled.

"Patience, little one."

"I am patient, Master! But the fish are not biting, and this is supposed to be our supper." John sighed dramatically. "Can't we go?"

The knight tugged at his rod, pulling a sea eel the size of John from the large river. With a swift movement, he removed the giant creatures head from its body. His child pouted as his master's supper flopped lifelessly about. Sherlock kissed his child's cheek lightly.

"You must catch your own supper now, John."

"But-"

Sherlock raised his knees around the boy, causing him to fall farther back against his chest. Long fingers tickled the small sides viscously, John scrunched into a small ball with laughter ringing out loudly. He twisted against his torturer, hiding his face in his master's stomach.

"Stop! Master, please! PLEASE!"

"Sit still, little one!" Sherlock chuckled. "You are making this tedious!"

John flailed helplessly, finding himself pinned on the ground. Sherlock allowed John to roll him, the air whistled from the knight's lungs as John crawled over him. The boy nestled beneath Sherlock's chin happily.

"Rude, Master," he sighed contently.

Sherlock's hands lightly stroked the child's back, circling upward to the blond hair. The strands were growing out of their baby soft stage and becoming firm. It pained Sherlock to watch the boy grow. Luckily John would always be short, even at nine he barely passed his mentor's waist. The children of Stewjon were all small, often until the age of thirteen, before they sprouted into stalky warriors or talented healers. John displayed signs of staying slender despite his planets traits, even Obi Wan was lean for a Stewjon.

Sherlock pressed a firm kiss to the boy's brow.

Why must he insist on growing up?

Couldn't he stay small and adore his teacher forever?

Sherlock rolled over to smother his child underneath him, John refused to squawk. Instead he took two fistfuls for his teacher's tunics and buried his face in them. John allowed his feelings to filter through their bond.

The boy was jubilant.

Sherlock exhaled with contentment.

His child was happy.

"We have deferred from the lesson," Sherlock mumbled.

"Darn, not the lesson," John replied with glee.

"Insolent whelp."

John giggled and crawled out from beneath his master, towards his fallen rod. The rough handle was gripped tightly by small hands and flicked towards the river. It landed with a small pop in the center of the river and drawn to the side with the currents.

The knight pulled his padawan back into his lap.

"Normally I am better at fishing than this," John pondered quietly.

"I am sure you are, little one."

John paused, slowly glancing up at his master, horror dawning over his face. The boy sprang up and rested two firm hands on his teacher's shoulders. He shook the older man for all he was worth, while laughing. "You are stopping my fish from biting! Aren't you? Aren't you, Master?"

"You are to learn patience, John. I cannot teach this if you catch your supper right away."

"Sleemo!" John lunged at his mentor.

Sherlock threw his child into the river with all his might and followed the boy in after.

They scared away many fish that day.

oOo

John had to be carried back to the small dwelling.

At a record eighteen hours of patience testing the child had fallen asleep shortly after catching his fish. One arm was tight around Sherlock's neck, the other dangled limply off to the side. Sherlock held the boy close, praying Mycroft had not yet returned. The elder man would give him a fairly stern lecture about John remaining alert at all times. Even though John was still only a little boy of nine, and the youngest padawans were taken was at ten.

As Sherlock held the boy closely he felt a surge of gratefulness for the extra two years.

John's breath was moist on his neck, the knight shifted him carefully so the small head faced the other way. Nose wrinkling in the cold, John twisted his face back to his master's collar bone. Sherlock smiled down at his brat and nipped his ear lightly.

He dragged the fish into back of the small home, throwing them down into the cooling shed and slamming the door shut. John jumped in his arms. His eyes lifted upward and blinked incomprehensively. Sherlock stroked a soft hand through the blond hair and the eyes closed once more, lolled off to sleep by a peaceful suggestion of the Force. John yawned against his teacher's neck.

"Brother mine."

Sherlock turned to see Mycroft standing a meter away, his hands on his hips accusingly. The knight resisted the urge to sigh, instead resolving to shift John in his arms. The boy lay oblivious to their accuser.

"He has had two twenty hour days in nearly a row, Mycroft," Sherlock kept his voice quiet.

"A Jedi must-"

"Star's sake, he isn't a full grown Jedi. He is barely a full grown youngling," the whisper was heated.

"You are not teaching him proper-"

"This isn't a lesson, Mycroft! He is a child, and children need rest! But I wouldn't expect you to know that after barely raising your own."

John's brow furrowed at the noise of his elders. He squirmed in the knight's arms, but Sherlock's tone immediately switched to soothing.

"Would like to lay in your bed until supper, John?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Yeah," the boy responded with a breathy whisper and was released to the ground. Staggering forward with sleep riddled limbs, the child pulled open the door to the house and found his room.

Sherlock's eyes followed the boy until he was gone, he returned his gaze to his brother. "Apologies. My last comment was far pass the line," Sherlock muttered darkly. "Mycroft?"

He should not have mocked a child's death.

Even he was above that.

Sherlock bowed low, hoping it would suffice as an apology. He turned on his heel to prepare for their supper, leaving his brother defeated behind him.

Victory tasted an awful lot like ash.


	4. Chapter 4

They made him kneel.

The elders got to sit around a long polished table adorned with some poor smelling garland, but John had to kneel off to Sherlock's side and listen closely. There were other children, children of the high councilmen who knelt dutifully at their father's sides, but John felt anxious. He didn't want to be treated like a dutiful son. He was a padawan, and padawans should get to sit with their masters.

Sherlock guided his head to rest softly against his thigh, an apology filtered through their bond. John leaned into his master gratefully.

_This is stupid._

_Little one. We worked on this very exercise yesterday._

_At least you didn't make me-_

_Patience. Breathe. You are being rather spoiled._

_Sorry, Master._

Sherlock's spidery fingers scratched at the base of his neck, John sighed and found his tolerance. The elders were discussing the probability of leaving the Republic heatedly with Master Mycroft.

Who had been avoiding Sherlock since yesterday.

What had Master done?

The knight growled in response to something said, leaving John to wish he could understand the language. Sometimes they would growl syllables, other times they would speak with words. John could only understand their heated tone.

"Lic cog tune tune, busta!" one of them shouted angrily.

Mycroft shook his head, calmingly replying with soft growling noises. Sherlock on the other hand turned to an elder across from him and muttered. "Jocasta ick, hun do toda. Nun ta yacule."

The elder paled.

"Oh well done, Sigerson," Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock shrugged with a small smirk.

_Master?_

John very much wanted to know what was going on.

_The elder accusing us of lying has fathered a child on this elder's wife. Idiot should have changed his hair cut._

John beamed and received a stern glance from Mycroft, he dipped his head close to Sherlock's thigh in embarrassment. He rested his cheek on the solid muscle boredly. A sharp pain the back of his skull warned him to sit up straighter.

Sherlock had flicked him.

_I hate this!_

_Little one, do you know how many times I had to kneel by Lestrade's side while he discussed politics with Naboo's queen. If I can hold out, you must certainly can too._

_I am trying, Master_.

Sherlock made a sharp growling sound at Master Mycroft, who had mumbled something in a low voice. The councilmen grew silent. A dark growling emitted from the head diplomat, his eyes blazed with fury. Somehow John understood that most men would cower beneath that tone. Half the room and the young padawan did just that.

But not his masters.

Both Jedi rose gracefully from their seats at the same instant. John scrambled to his feet clumsily, like a new born bantha. An unimpressed look was cast upon him by the elder Jedi, but Sherlock merely snorted.

At least Master was never ashamed of him.

Mycroft made a final statement, composed of gibberish John did not remotely understand, and bowed in synch with Sherlock. The elder councilmen responded less than kindly, but whatever had been said made Sherlock smirk and Mycroft relax. They departed after four hours of arguing.

"Effective threat, brother mine," Sherlock sounded fairly impressed.

"Yes well, when out matched, cheat."

"What'd he say?" John begged, not wanting to be left out. Sherlock's lips twitched upward, Mycroft actually chuckled.

"I theoretically threatened the planet's woman on them," Mycroft said pleasantly.

John's brow furrowed. "Like their mothers?" he asked curiously.

"And wives, and sisters, and daughters," Sherlock said gleefully.

"Oh. You mean the priestesses?" John said cautiously.

"Slow observation, John," his master scolded.

"Slow, not dull," the boy pointed out. His teacher grinned.

John squirmed. The priestesses had been kind, surely they weren't as fierce as Mycroft was making them out to be. Sherlock pulled the boy against his side, clearly looking for a swift tussle. It was like being raise by a child sometimes.

John was wedged between his master's forearm and side, whilst being noogied aggressively. John bit down on Sherlock's arm, lunging at the knight's knees. They rolled together painfully, tangling their limbs, and falling at Mycroft's feet. Sherlock ignored the older master and smothered his padawan beneath him, demanding mercy be begged for.

Twice.

John wheezed under the pressure of his master's body. "Get off! You weigh more than a rancor! Master!"

"Children," Mycroft scowled.

Sherlock twisted the boy's arm in a particularly rude way, causing him to yelp. The padawan was released, only to fly at his master a moment later. Sherlock forgot himself and swept the child up into strong arms, John giggled as Sherlock sat him astride his shoulders. Mycroft continued walking without bothering to look back at the two toddlers.

John leaned against his master's head. "We keep making him mad," the boy said sadly.

"It is no great leap," Sherlock growled.

"I guess," John said dejectedly. He did like Master Mycroft, but Sherlock was his master. It was like comparing an uncle to a father, John would always go to Sherlock first. The boy was pulled from the shoulders of his tall master and settled into arms. The knight sniffed at his padawan's neck.

John placed his forehead against Sherlock's.

"Why's Mycroft so mad at you?"

Sherlock began nuzzling his child's hair, his scent was mixing with the small child's. John giggled as the other man's nose went behind his ear, he squirmed closer to Sherlock. "You smell of Mycroft," his teacher growled.

"You changed the subject, Master," John accused softly.

"I-it has been apologized for."

John wasn't stupid, Sherlock didn't want to talk about it. Which was fine of course, Master never had to tell John anything he didn't want to. Instead of persisting John leaned into Sherlock's chest, allowing himself to relax.

"How come the priestesses weren't at the meeting?" John yawned as he spoke.

"The council is dominated by men, little one. The priestesses are the women half of government on this planet. They will be more difficult to persuade seeing as they don't allow men in there temple." Sherlock began carrying John towards a small market. The boy at once located the pastries and began begging fiercely.

Gorian sweets were even better than Twi'lek desserts, perhaps even better than Rodian desserts. John squirmed to be put down and rushed over to a vendor. A wafting plate of pastries with some form of chocolate sauce was placed under the boy nose. Inhaling deeply, he turned to Sherlock with pleading eyes.

"Master, can I have one? Just one? I was really good through that whole meeting," John argued.

"Padawan, a Jedi is always well behaved without the promise of reward," Sherlock rebuked.

"But I was really good," the boy grumbled.

Sherlock ran a soft hand through the boy's hair in thought. After a moment he passed the boy five Republic credits and watched the smile spread over the boy's face. John very much wanted to hug his master, but the older Jedi was turn to a fruit stand and inspecting a dark purpled fruit. It was round and firm, perfectly ripe, with a small blue stem peaking off its crown. Sherlock smirked. "Mycroft's favorite."

The knight bought himself a bright red fruit, frowning as the young woman nearly tripped over herself making the sale. He plucked the fruit from its perch and turned to see John frozen in place. An eyebrow was quirked in question.

"Can-can we get Mycroft something too, Master? He would have come if we hadn't angered him," John's face was drawn into a serious look. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

"Little one, I gave you the last of my credits for the day," Sherlock said curiously.

John blinked down at the money in his hand, suddenly distressed. It wouldn't be fair if they all got treats, but Mycroft. His pastry would cost four credits, Mycroft's fruit would cost three. Sweat began to form over the boy's hand, he sighed.

Slowly he walked over to the fruit vender and handed her three credits before taking up Mycroft's fruit. He found a small pastry that only cost one credit that looked acceptable. Sherlock had an odd expression on his face as the child returned to his side slowly.

"What?"

"I-you…." Sherlock's voice trailed off. "You didn't have to purchase that, little one."

"I know," John said timidly. "But he wasn't in a good mood, and he's never happy, and maybe this will make him happy, and I just feel bad sometimes, cause sometimes it is our fault he's mad, Master. Plus everyone deserves treats, and I still got one so it really is-"

"John," Sherlock said. John blinked at the tone. His master almost sounded in awe. "That is very…you are a good boy."

John beamed. "Yeah, I know."

"Brat."

oOo

His brother and the boy returned an hour later.

His mediation was interrupted by a small hand gently touching his shoulder. With a small sigh he opened his eyes, John stood directly in front him. His gaze was averted downward with sudden shyness as he presented the master with a large purple fruit.

"Master says it's your favorite," the boy said unsurely, as if he had been given faulty information. "We stopped at a market to get treats, and I wanted to make sure you got one too." John dropped the dark fruit into Mycroft's open palm.

The master gaped down at it.

It was his favorite treat as a child, but after being taken on by Dooku treats had become a rarity. Mycroft fingered the firm flesh, before finding his voice. He thanked the child softly and watched him turn to go. Mycroft stopped him.

"You didn't have to, young one."

John shrugged. "You don't do good things 'cause you have to, Master."

He scampered away to find Sherlock.

Mycroft pulled the fruit to his lips and bit down. The flesh squished beneath his teeth, sending juices down his chin.

Divine.

Had the child been correct? Sherlock had told him the fruit was his favorite?

That was…kind.

oOo

"Master?"

John had found him sitting along the banks of a river observing the natives. A small female child was suckling happily at her mother's neck, absorbing her scent. The mother growled approvingly as her cub fell asleep in her arms.

John was pulling himself up next to his master perch. Sherlock heaved the boy up by the scruff off his neck, John giggled as he was sat next to the knight. John leaned into his side. "How come they do that?" John noted the children suckling their parent's necks.

"Their scents," Sherlock explained slowly. "A parent's scent is soothing, on this planet it is used to sleep."

And when he was young it was allowed by Lestrade.

"Oh," John yawned.

"How was Mycroft?"

"Okay. He didn't say much," John muttered. Sherlock draped his arm around the child's slender shoulders, showing a rare sign of affection in public. John nestled closer, it a treasured time when Sherlock was in this mood. The knight placed his forehead against John's cheek.

"Must I apologize to Mycroft?" Sherlock felt inspired by John's earlier actions. The boy was the pure that was often taught in temple. He was Sherlock's anchor to the light, though the reminder of obligation was often tedious. John gazed up him with an odd half smile.

"Master, you are the smartest, cleverest knight in temple. You don't have ta ask me, and you know it."

"I did apologize though," Sherlock said against the smooth cheek.

"Did Master Mycroft understand the apology?" John asked cheekily.

"Unlikely."

John cuddled him, pressing himself deep into Sherlock's side. The child was pulled into his lap. "Perhaps I shall try again," he whispered.

"It is the right thing to do, Master mine," he was assured.

Sherlock hefted the boy up in his arms and pointed them homeward. Exhaustion was sweeping through him, all he truly wanted was rest. Perhaps Mycroft would allow him the bed if the apology was sincere enough. He had not slept well since they had gotten on that cursed planet. As a child he had not only taken Lestrade's scent, but would also tell people he too was of Naboo. Goria was not a cheerful place for him.

Perhaps when this was over he would raise John on Naboo.

He would enjoy the vast seas.

And his master would enjoy the solitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Could I maybe get some comments with the chapters if that's okay? Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

John traced patterns over his master's boot.

It was a bored flick of his finger that brought different, polished art to life against the stiff leather. Only a few times was he glanced down on in an annoyed fashion, but was otherwise ignored. Master let him get away with murder when he was being forced to kneel. He exhaled heavily over the boot, erasing his old drawing and preparing for a new one.

A harsh growling sound from above sent Sherlock into a snarl. John's blond head shot up as the knight hissed low in fury, Mycroft rested a hand on his arm tightly. It was shrugged off heatedly with another furry of snaps directed at the master. The Jedi lifted a highly unimpressed eyebrow, as usual he was scolding Sherlock without the use of words. John touched his master's knee loyally. Sherlock glanced down at the child who had knelt at his feet without a justified temper tantrum or protest. He shoved back from the table angrily. Master looked so, so miffed.

"Come along, John," Sherlock said shortly.

"Yes, Master," John rose swiftly.

Master didn't bow out on the way to the exit so neither did he. Kriff everyone who was giving them dirty looks. John followed Sherlock closely on his heels, daring anyone through the Force to insult his teacher.

They stopped outside the grand entrance, or rather Sherlock stopped him with a soft hand to his shoulder. "You are tired," the elder accused.

"No," his padawan denied at once. "I'm alright."

"Little one, you have been attending twelve hour meetings for three days now." Sherlock began guiding him once more towards the outer city. John allowed himself to be guided at a quickened pass towards their transport homeward. "You will be going to bed at once."

"Master! You promised to show me more saber stuff," his padawan whined bitterly.

"Enough, spoiled one," Sherlock said while running a soft hand over the child's ear. John mewed and leaned closer to his master's clever hand.

"What did the elder say that miffed you, Master?" John asked curiously.

Sherlock knelt in front of John slowly, his hand still clasped around the boy's shoulder. The thumb massaged over the tight muscle over John's collarbone, the knight's eyes were uncertain as he looked into his padawan's eyes. "Little one, you understand on this planet they treat base-born children as expandable rubbish?"

John nodded humbly.

"They seem to think, as everyone on this Force forsaken planet does, that you are my bastard cub. They wanted to know if you were for sale, little one. They knew it would irritate me to hear them offer their compliance for a new 'alter slave"."

John blushed, glaring down at his boots. "Oh."

"Yes. I imagine Mycroft will be lecturing me on this for days." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose exhaustedly. "And it doesn't help that your fatigue has been seeping through our bond all evening."

The apologies began flowing at once, but Sherlock stilled him with a sharp ear nip. John leaned into his teacher's shoulder gratefully, curling his hands into the older man's tunics. Sherlock tugged at the young boy's braid affectionately.

"And you wonder why they exploit your weakness as means to wane your argument," Mycroft sneered behind them.

John closed his eyes against Sherlock's neck. His heart beat so fiercely it threatened to burst from his chest.

Weakness?

"He isn't a weakness, Mycroft," Sherlock sighed. "And you've upset him."

John felt tears start down his cheeks as his master spoke. For the last three days he had less than twenty hours of sleep and had watched his master argue for a losing Republic against diplomats who were more than ready to embrace the Separatists. All he wanted was warm milk and honey and maybe a cuddle from Sherlock before bed. He knew sometimes he made Sherlock feel obligated to protect him, therefore putting him in danger. But he never thought he was a weakness.

"Ignore him, Padawan Watson," Sherlock said into his ear.

"Yes, Master Holmes," John whispered back.

"We are leaving, Mycroft. You can stay and finish with these idiots if you'd like. I find myself growing weary of their antics, and my padawan requires rest." Sherlock rose to full height, leaving his hand curled in the boy's hair.

"Walking away from a diplomatic meeting is childish, Master Rathbone," Mycroft said snidely.

"I'm dealing with children," Sherlock quoted his former master. John gave him a pleading look. With a heavy sigh he managed to maneuver his padawan outside without further interference from his older brother. John felt ready to drop from exhaustion and misery, his master did not soothe him.

"Idiot. Yes, Master Mycroft. Everything is my fault, please forgive me for standing up for my own child. It shan't happen again, I swear. The absolute nerve," Sherlock raved as they walked the dirt road to their transport. John played silently with his fingers as Sherlock continued to hiss to himself, about how insufferable Mycroft was being. The boy Jedi was left alone to ponder the insult Mycroft had thrown, without meaning to, his way.

John found his pace slowing behind Sherlock, until he was staring through bleary eyes at his master's back. His steps halted in place, his boots began sinking deep into the mud before Sherlock noticed his absences from his side. The knight turned with the familiar scowl on his face. "Little one?"

"Master…what did Mycroft mean when he said I was a weakness?" John asked quietly. "Do…do I make you weak?"

"I told both of you, you are no weakness, John," Sherlock said with an annoyed tone. "I grow tired of repeating myself."

"I-I…I've heard it before though, Sherlock," John said painfully. "I make you weak cause you care 'bout me."

"Don't be ri-"

"Jedi aren't supposed to be attached, Master. But I made you attached…" John let the tears fall. It took less than a second for Sherlock to sweep him up into his arms and press the young face against his shoulder.

"Yes, John. I care for you, more than I should. But it does not make me weak, even remotely."

John buried his face into Sherlock's neck. "My shoulder hurts."

It was his code to tell Sherlock he was tired, his master nodded carefully. "You won't be attending tomorrow's meeting, little one. I want you to rest for the day, you are too young to have such little sleep."

"Okay, Master," John submitted quietly.

Sherlock carried a near slumbering John to the public transport. It wasn't natural for the knight to continue to allow John to fall asleep against him as the approached the common public. Sherlock passed over their passes silently to a conductor and was told where to go. John's head was covered protectively as the ducked into the transport. An empty compartment was located, and the boy was placed carefully on one of the long seats.

"'m sleepy," John muttered.

"I know, little one," Sherlock said softly, covering the boy with his robe. "Rest a moment, I'm going to find you something to eat."

"You eat too," John snapped as the door closed behind his mentor.

Idiot.

oOo

Sherlock came back ten minutes later with a sandwich, some crisps, and a nectar pouch for John. He had even found an assortment of raw meat which looked promising to experiment on. Those remained hidden in his pack as kicked the control panel for his compartment door. The stewardess cast him a dirty look, but he rolled his eyes.

Honestly, his hands were full.

John was sitting up ramrod straight next to a very regal looking Mycroft, who eyed his food selections with a look of distain. Ignoring his brother, he motioned for his padawan to come and take his lunch, but the boy shook his head carefully. The knight frowned as John, tired and miserable, continued looking at him with a pained expression. It was far too much.

"John, take your lunch," Sherlock instructed firmly. "You have not eaten since tea. Come now." He waited for his demands to be obeyed, but his child merely slumped.

"John is learning to fast, brother mine. And he is learning to be alert despite his fatigue," Mycroft said from John's side. The boy flinched, clearly unsure of whose side to take. Sherlock settled it for him.

"Padawan," he said gently, holding out the sandwich with a stern gaze. "I am your master, you will do as I say. Especially when it comes to your health."

Gingerly the sandwich was accepted, but not unwrapped. John set it in his lap and proceeded to glare at it hungrily.

What had Mycroft said to the child?

"Give us a moment, John," Sherlock sighed at last. "There is an empty compartment at the end of the hall, wait for me to collect you."

_Take your food, little one. I expect it eaten when I arrive._

_But, Master-_

_Go._

"Yes, sir," John said dejectedly as he gathered up his food and passed Sherlock back his robe.

"What in blazes have you done?" Sherlock roared the minute John was out of ear shot. "He was perfectly content-"

"Of course he was, he was being spoiled after all," Mycroft said calmly.

"Spoiled? Spoiled? He had been forced to kneel on a hard floor for hours, Mycroft! Even at John's age that is murderous to his knees. He hasn't eaten all evening, and he has only had limited sleep. He cannot keep this up much longer!"

"Because you have not taught him how," again the calm tone that caused rage to blind the knight.

"I will not teach a growing boy to fast when his body is still developing. He is already short for his age, let's not add overly thin to his list!" Sherlock shouted. "He is only a little boy, Mycroft!"

"He is a young Jedi and needs to be trained as such. The boy has promise, Sherlock. If you are not equipped to handle it, I will take the boy off your hands."

Sherlock flushed with rage. Always this. Always Mycroft wanting what didn't belong to him. He all but spit his next words. "At the end of the day, at the end of day when he has been starved, and ill-slept, and he becomes sick from over using himself, he is not a Jedi. You see him when he is composed and practiced, Mycroft. You do not see him when he is so exhausted he cannot tell his right from his left. He is only nine, perhaps it was acceptable for your padawan, being thirteen, to learn such things, but mine is only a child. And at the end of the day that is what he is. A little boy who is hungry and sore and can't figure out why his elder has forbidden him to eat or sleep."

"Do you speak of your padawan or yourself, my brother?" Mycroft said snidely.

It was too much. "Why don't you enlighten me, Mycroft? Seeing as how you and my dominus share a similar teaching style."

Mycroft paled. "He isn't your-"

"Legally he is. Do not try to make yourself John's," Sherlock said coldly slamming the door triumphantly in the elder Holmes's face. He stalked down the hallway in search of his padawan's chambers. They were located at the very end of the hall. Slow breaths were taken before entering, his padawan still sitting up straight, his meal untouched. Sherlock sighed.

"Eat."

"Mycroft says-"

"Kriff Mycroft. Eat your lunch, and I will order my own," Sherlock promised shortly. His child's face brightened.

"A big lunch, Master. You gotta eat a big lunch."

"I will match what you eat, my little one."

John agreed happily and delved into his sandwich furiously. Sherlock watched the boy avoid the crusts and thoroughly enjoyed the meat and cheese that packed the soft bread. A smile threatened to creep out of him. He hoisted John into the air and settled beneath him, the boy resting tiredly against his chest.

"Are we not going back then?" John asked softly.

"No. Let the prat stew for another few hours. I care little for how he has been treating you," Sherlock said still angry. John nuzzled him gently, prodding him in the ribs with a small finger.

"Jedi don't sulk, my master."

"Eat your lunch, brat."

oOo

He came to his senses after staring at the compartment door for an hour.

_Dominus. My dominus._

_He isn't your-_

_Legally he is._

That wasn't how a free man should have spoken. Sherlock should have denied Moriarty at once, he had a Jedi master, he had grown up free. Aside from the mishap when he was eighteen, but still he should not have recognized Moriarty as his master. Was this a warning from the Force? Did Sherlock still look to Moriarty as his rightful master?

Sherlock had grown up adoring Lestrade, it had always been clear. Then again Sith had been known to be crafty, perhaps…

It was ridiculous. If nothing else the knight adored John, and the boy had received lashings only months ago. There was no plausible Sherlock would allow that to happen Sith or no. Unless it was a punishment from Moriarty for being disobedient?

_My dominus._

Blast it.

He strode down the hall in search of his younger companions. There at the end of the hall John's Force signature flickered lightly. Deeply asleep despite Mycroft's wishes. He scowled and opened the door swiftly.

John was sprawled over Sherlock's chest in a mess of limbs and hidden beneath a cloak. His head was tucked neatly under Sherlock's chin, his small hand rested over the older Jedi's heart. Sherlock had clearly not intended to fall asleep with his padawan. Reed pipes were still tightly clenched in the hand that did not cover John's back protectively. His little brother's mouth was opened slightly, releasing small puffs of air that blew the blond hair forward and back.

Sherlock looked years younger.

But he didn't look nearly as peaceful as most people did when the dreamt.

His brow was scrunched together in agony, his nose wrinkled in distain. His mouth began to press into a thin line. Mycroft knew the signs well, night terrors. In a matter of seconds Sherlock would no doubt be thrashing out, perhaps injuring John.

A small yawn broke his concentration. John stirred against Sherlock and sat up slightly. A glance down at his master shared what Mycroft had already come to know. John rubbed his eyes sleepily, not even moving away from the impending danger.

"It's okay, Master," John began to soothe as if he had done it a million times for his teacher. "S'okay. I know you're scare, but don't be, cause Moriarty isn't gonna hurt you in real life. It's just a bad dream, you're gonna be okay."

To his great surprised Sherlock whimpered in response.

"Shh, Master. We're fine. You're a good man, Sherlock. A good master too, but you'd be even better if you'd let me have more desserts," John yawned once more and snuggled back down into Sherlock's chest. "I'm not scared of Moriarty and neither should you be. You're stronger than him, Master. And cleverer. He can't hurt you, and you won't let him hurt me. We're okay."

Sherlock's face became completely relaxed at his padawan's words. The worry lines vanished from his forehead, and the deeply asleep look that often crossed children's face replaced his normal emotionless mask. John kissed his cheek lightly, all without noticing Mycroft, and dozed back to sleep.

Clearly he had walked in on something he was never meant to see.


	6. Chapter 6

John was at his side, begging for treats.

Both of them had decided to take a vacation from the tireless meetings of the Gorian council. Mycroft had all but declared them over anyways, they would need to go to the priestesses and beg them for assistance. The dignity of the Jedi lost to a group of old hundarks who had not better use of their time other than being annoying. John almost sobbed as they passed by a bakery.

"Master!"

"Padawan!" Sherlock cried back in the same longing, whining tone. John crossed his arms angrily and pushed out his lower lip. Sherlock continued on despite the approaching temper tantrum. His child sulked behind him.

"Not fair," he grunted.

"Bored," Sherlock replied back. Deliberately he stalked past several stands selling honey cakes and an assortment of pies and instead purchased several pieces of fresh fruit. When John was handed his half, the boy all but snarled. John begrudgingly bit into the round shaped, orange fruit with a small sigh of inconvenience. His master chuckled. "Come now, little one. That is a delicacy on this planet."

John's nose wrinkled. "All due respect, Master, if it's not in a pie or covered in chocolate, it is no delicacy."

"Impudent child."

John shrugged and took another bite of his fruit. He circled his master's long legs, seeking the attention of the adult he most adored. Sherlock gazed the other way, only to spite the dancing boy. John huffed loudly. He snatched at Sherlock's tunics until the older man was forced to bat him away playfully. John giggled.

"Master, can I ask you something?" John's voice grew childish and uncertain. Sherlock stooped down to examine fresh collections of teas as John continued. "How come tea is so important to you? I mean, I like it and all but…it seems a little dull for your tastes."

Ah.

"It was time spent with your grandfather and now it is time spent with you. There is nothing tedious to that on most occasions," Sherlock mused swiftly. Sentiment. Blast Lestrade for teaching him that tea time should be cherished. Though John was partially correct, at first tea time had been incredibly boring.

"Oh," John said happily. "Yeah. I guess being with you isn't that bad."

Sherlock gave his padawan's ear a sharp tug, but felt the familiar grin slid over his face. John had a stupid way of pulling it from him against his will. John blinked up at him innocently, inclining his head thoughtfully to the side. Sherlock shoved him lightly. "Away with you. Find something to entertain yourself."

"Where are you going, Master?"

"Errands, little one," Sherlock said slyly.

"Can't I come with you?"

Clingy. Sherlock scowled until the boy looked downward sadly. It was obvious John merely wanted to spend time with his elder. Sherlock stooped swiftly to nip at his padawan's ear gingerly. "I will meet with you in an hour or so, John. You needn't be so dependent."

"You promised we'd do stuff today," John said dejectedly. "All I've gotten to see of you is your boots, I miss you…" his voice trailed away. "And Mycroft hasn't been helping."

"Little one," Sherlock said amused, "go entertain yourself elsewhere. I will find you soon."

"Yes, Master," John said before trudging off to find something to do.

Sherlock flicked on his comm the moment his child was out of ear shot. "How difficult?"

"They will not allow me to enter," Mycroft's voice was annoyed. "Adult males are not permitted past their sacred gates."

"Idiotic. How can gates be sacred?" Sherlock snapped.

"The boy-"

"Will not being doing your failed negotiations."

"Sherlock-"

"The answer is no, brother."

"There is a wrywolf guarding the gate. Red fur," Mycroft said softly. Sherlock's heart stilled.

"I'm coming."

oOo

John found a group of children around his own age to play with.

They welcomed him warmly, assuming he was Gorian because Sherlock scented him so much. A ball was bounced between the four participants, John found it tediously dull. Though he had never played catch before in his life, there seemed to be no point to the game. John began checking his comm link for messages from Sherlock. The alert bulb did not blink as he had hoped it would. The boy sighed.

"Oi! Babies!"

The group of children looked up indignantly at two impending teenagers. John huffed angrily at the thought of being called a baby, until he noted what squirming was in the older boys' hands.

Puppies.

Six legged wrywolf puppies.

John squealed along with all the other children and darted forward to collect a silver furred puppy to his chest. It licked his face happily, causing the child to giggle and hug it closer. Jedi weren't allowed to have pets, and Master would more than likely be cross at him for snuggling with the furry pup, but it was still too tempting to resist. He kissed the silver forehead.

"Where'd you find them, Nicolai?" one the children piped up eagerly.

"In a nest by the edge of the forest," a teen replied easily. His hands hid something behind his back. Something that was whimpering in pain.

"What is that?" John asked horrified.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, poodoo brains."

John stepped forward and handed his pup off to one of his new companions. The parcel cried louder as if sensing someone were trying to come to its aid. John rested a hand on his saber hilt as his master sometimes did to encourage obedience. The older boys paled considerable. The crying bundle was swung around to face John. A red furred puppy with a bleeding mid-paw and frightened expression.

The young Jedi shot forward, collecting the injured puppy to himself. The little being cried loudly for its mother, John cradled him carefully. "You hurt him? Why'd you hurt him?"

"Red fur. He's a freak of nature. No better than a bastard," the eldest teen explained. "He's got to prove he's worth living."

"You broke his leg! You were cruel!" John shouted heatedly.

The teen opened his mouth as if to reply, when the horrid sound of an angry mother snarled over John's shoulder. A ten foot grown, silver furred wrywolf bared her teeth as John turned slowly. The young puppies howled excitedly to see their mother and began wiggling viscously to be put down.

John maintained his hold on the wounded pup.

And screamed for Sherlock across their bond.

oOo

His child was actually trying to bargain with a near rabid wolf when he arrived.

John was holding a whimpering bundle of red fur, while several other children cowered behind the young Jedi. John stamped his foot angrily.

"He's hurt! Listen! He needs help, I can't just give him to you!" John shouted. He turned at once he sensed Sherlock's signature, his eyes were watering with annoyance. "She won't listen to me. The pup will die without medical attention."

Sherlock knew better than to try to get at his child with the mother snarling for her cub back. Gently he pushed at her mind, his objective to still the agitated mother. John began unwrapping the cub and showed him the two injured mid-legs. Sherlock cringed.

"Give the cub to its mother, little one," Sherlock said softly.

"He won't survive, Master!" John called as though Sherlock would not understand that.

"John, why do you think there is more than one babe born in a litter?" Sherlock was trying to be logical with his padawan. "Animals die, it is why so many are birthed at one time. Give the cub to the mother."

John was horrified.

Blast it. Logic often horrified the young boy, it was due to the overactive innocence that flowed through the developing mind. Sherlock took a step towards his padawan. The female wolf snarled.

"Little one."

"Noo!" John wailed. "We can't leave him! Jedi protect the innocent!"

"I am protecting the children behind you, John!" Sherlock snapped. "Give the cub to its mother."

"Just get her to wait," John begged.

"Damn it," Sherlock swore under his breath. Reluctantly he let out a low whistle, catching the attention of the snarling beast. The other children took the opportunity to flee. With a small hand gesture, he motioned John toward him. John took several careful steps near his master, the cub had stopped whimpering as the boy spoke quietly to him. Soothing words were spoken into the velvet ear of the red furred cub. Sherlock held his arms out for the small wolf, John passed it over gently and muttered soft thanks.

"Now go to the mother," Sherlock said shortly.

His padawan looked up at him in a panic.

"I have her cub, she needs mine to trust me."

"But I-"

"Little one, it was you who begged me to save this pathetic life form. If it is truly what you want, you must do your part," Sherlock said gruffly. It was hardly a time for sympathy, if John wanted to learn the art of protecting the innocent, he had to do it alone. With a brave sigh, John trudged forward. Only a slight tremor in his hand revealed his fright.

"John," Sherlock stopped his padawan. "Use your senses. If you feel at all in danger…"

"I know, Master."

John went slowly, unthreateningly to the wolf. His hands held out carefully, so the she-wolf could watch him carefully. When he was near enough for her to reach out with her jaw and take hold of the back of his neck, he froze. "M-master?"

"Don't move, little one," Sherlock warned swiftly. "It's her way of compensating for me holding her cub."

"O-okay," John shook.

Honestly, why couldn't John just have given up the small cub? Sherlock glanced down at the red furred cub and thought to his own red wolf. Wrywolves, though scarce as pets, were notorious for being overly loyal to their families, normally one specific member. In his case his family's wrywolf cub had been overly attached to him at age three. And being only a toddler at the time, he too had adored the cub. His father had not been impressed, despite the rare connection with a wrywolf.

Red fur was supposed to be a rarity, and yet he had seen two in his life time with the same coloring. The knight held the cub high above his head, examining the two legs. Both appeared to be broken, one was bleeding profoundly. The poor thing cried loudly as his legs were touched. The she-wolf's jaw tightened over John's shoulder.

"Master," his own child whimpered.

"Sit quietly, John," Sherlock commanded firmly.

The cub would need to have his mid-legs amputated. Sherlock pressed the small mind into sleep and was instantly obeyed. With a small hand gesture, John's mini saber flew from his pocket. Sherlock released a steadying breath, relaxing the cub further. It was then that the knight swiftly removed the two mid-legs, the saber cauterizing the wound. John yelped as the mew of large wolf began closing around his neck.

Slowly Sherlock knelt to the ground, reawakened the cub, and released him to his mother. It was unsteady on four legs and would need time to get used to them, but after a few wobbly steps it sprinted towards its mother. John was released as soon as the cub was hidden safely behind his mum. She barked a warning at him.

"You fixed him," John breathed in relief.

"Come here," Sherlock said shortly. His padawan ran to him with all his might, slamming into the solid stomach muscle with a satisfied "oof". John nuzzled into the warm tunics with the feeling of gratitude shining brightly through their bond. Sherlock kissed his temple lightly. "Idiot boy."

"I had to help," John said quietly.

"I know you did," Sherlock responded in kind.

Something behind the pair snapped. A huff of warm breath moistened the back of the knight's neck, causing gooseflesh to rise above the surface of his skin. Sherlock froze as a second wrywolf bit at his shoulder gently, almost playfully. A damp nose sniffed eagerly behind his ear, accidently nudging him forward slightly. The young man stumbled forward.

A dark red wrywolf barked happily. Its tail wagged in excitement as it tried desperately to get the human to play. As they had done years ago. Sherlock gaped.

And though he would never admit it, his throat closed with some emotion.

"Redbeard."


	7. Chapter 7

It turned out Sherlock had had a wrywolf of his own when he was little.

John was rolling on the ground, buried under the hoard of six puppies that turned out to be Redbeard's own broad. Two of the puppies sat proudly on his shoulders, keeping him held down as the mother watched from above. At least she seemed more relaxed around them after Redbeard had revealed Sherlock as his human. The red furred puppy was licking his face happily and pulled at his ear with sharp little teeth.

Sherlock was slammed to the ground repeatedly as his wrywolf pounced on him aggressively. They snarled at each other fiercely, each one trying to establish who was alpha. The knight immobilized the wolf down by his throat and bit at the velvety ear. Redbeard howled with joy and flipped the knight on his back, watching the young man struggle.

Apparently the wrywolf had run towards its mate upon hearing the whimpers of his pups, but had recognized Sherlock as his boy. The smell that Sherlock had worn as a toddler was long gone, however the man's aura was unmistakable. Especially to a childhood friend. John watched his master practically get mauled by the huge wolf for fun, the wolf had the knight pinned on his back.

And the knight had never looked happier.

John picked his red furred companion up by the under arms and held him around the stomach. He ran to his master and knelt down at his side. The pup was gathered under his chin and licking him joyfully. John looked down on Sherlock, who was beaming in such a way that John had never seen. Sherlock reached up to gently scratch behind the boy's ear, pacifying his overactive mind into relaxation. Sherlock gave a small smirk.

"You coo when you're happy," the knight observed.

John blushed and pulled his new friend closer. Maybe he did make some noises when he was happy. So what? "I'm gonna call him Toby."

"Idiotic name," Sherlock said, lying under his wolf's lean body. A warm tongue swiped across his face in one swoop. He smiled up at the red furred monster.

"Yes, Master _Sherlock_."

"Brat."

John grinned at the knight before lying next to him, his own wrywolf pup sitting on his chest. Both men lay at each other's side, basking in the warmth of the twin suns. John's puppy let out a sneeze on top of him, causing the boy to giggle in twist into Sherlock's chest. The elder Jedi continued to scratch at Redbeard's chin enthusiastically, his fingers twisting the oddly colored fur happily.

"I thought they would have had him put down," Sherlock mumbled softly. "He was loyal to no one, but me. He'd often bite my father, and my mother barely could stand him."

"Who took care of him then?" John asked curiously.

"Mycroft said he was guarding the Gorian Temple, most likely the priestesses cared for him." Sherlock leaned fully into his padawan and sniffed at his ear.

"They must have taken good care him, Master," John smiled at the pup that curled between himself and his master.

"So it would seem."

Redbeard turned his head to John, sniffing eagerly at his human's cub. The boy held perfectly still as Redbeard nuzzled his neck and pawed at his arm. John reached up carefully and stroked the huge beast's neck.

"Master Mycroft's gonna be mad as bantha dung when he finds out we didn't go to the meetings and ended up playing with puppies," John giggled.

"Would you think it unjustified, Padawan Watson?" a cold sneer spoke above them. John froze in fear, his arms tightened around his puppy instinctively. Mycroft was glaring intently at Sherlock. The knight shrugged in response.

"You were correct, Mycroft, a red furred wolf did guard the temple. Were you able to sneak in after John distracted it for you?" Sherlock said, clearly amused. Redbeard was snarling above him, disturbed by the new stranger near his cubs. Also his human had little care in his heart for the new man.

John frowned as his puppy began to growl angrily at the new smelling human. The older Jedi looked as if he were down to his final nerve. John sat up slowly, his pup held close as the master cast him a look of scorn. John set Toby next to his father and lent a hand to his unmoved master. Sherlock continued playing with the wolf's ears, his mind seemed far off. "Did you find what you needed, Mycroft?"

"How could I, Sherlock? I wasn't allowed in," Mycroft said sorely.

"There was hardly a guard team," Sherlock smirked, hiding his face in the wolf's fur.

"Dismiss your wolf, I need your attention," Mycroft commanded gruffly.

"You want me to dismiss an old friend so soon? It's been years, brother mine," at last Sherlock rolled from beneath his wolf and took John's hand. The small hand fit neatly in Sherlock's palm, John grinned as he heaved the older man up. "Having the wolf on our side will make it easier to get the priestess' attention, will it not? They have an unnatural love for animals." Sherlock spoke the word "love" as though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. John grimaced.

"It does not solve the issue of getting them to speak to us. The boy-"

"I will not allow it," Sherlock said firmly. At once he took John's shoulders and pulled him back against his legs. "He is too young for such a mission."

"Sherlock, this is not up for debate. The Gorian council is turning their backs on the Republic, we need the priestesses. We cannot meet with the Highest priestess because we are adult males!" Mycroft's composure was fading.

"It is too dangerous for a child! I will not put him under such stress without me! And you know as well as I, child or no he is in danger at that place for being male."

"And how does he feel about this?" Mycroft snapped, hoping to play on John's young pride.

"All due respect, Master Mycroft, last time Master forbade a mission that I ignored….it did not end well." John rubbed his shoulder uneasily. Sherlock's psyche flinched over their bond, John soothed his master quickly. "If Sherlock says no, Master, it is no."

"Such obedience for a boy whose file of insubordination is meters long."

Redbeard sensed his boy's rage and howled angrily. Sherlock squeezed the child's shoulders almost painfully, but John did not still his miffed master. Slowly he reached for Sherlock's fingers and clutched them in his small hand. He smiled brightly at the elder master. "Yes, Master. Sherlock is an exceptional teacher for bringing such a padawan to heel. Wouldn't you say?" John was rewarded with a tender tug on his braid. Redbeard trotted up behind the boy and nuzzled at him proudly, a long tongue swiped at the back of his head, sending blond hair in every direction. John giggled whole heartedly as the large wolf hoisted him backwards onto its strong shoulders.

From this height he was even taller than Master Mycroft!

"He is my padawan, Mycroft. Respect my wishes for his safety, or we will be on the next transport home," Sherlock said coldly. The knight gave a gentle nudge to his wolf and led his padawan away from the snarling master.

John blinked back at Mycroft.

Master was treating him like a baby. Granted he fully intended to obey Sherlock, but his master didn't have to shout at Mycroft for him. He sighed down at the wolf.

This time, even if Master made him feel like a kid, he would comply.

oOo

They said goodbye to their wolves near the entrance to the temple.

John clung to his cub, crying and all but begging to keep him. In the end Sherlock picked his sobbing padawan up and carried him away, with John babbling his goodbyes behind him. Fault was not placed with the boy, Sherlock understood the want to stay with his cub. But honestly did the boy need to wiggle so much!

"Little one," Sherlock finally snapped as the boy tried to jump over his shoulder. John turned against his neck and tried to curl into a ball, a hiccup emerged from the child. The knight stroked his back evenly. Sometimes raising a boy was….overly tedious.

"How come? How come, Master? Can't the pups stay with us while we're on this planet? Please, please? I'll be good!"

"Little one, is not the state of your behavior that would matter. Mycroft would have my head if I allowed you a cub," Sherlock said boredly. "We will visit them again, John."

John tightened his grip on his master's tunics and nodded tearfully. "Yes, Master."

Sherlock kissed his temple lightly. "Will you survive, my little one?"

John scowled. "I noticed you actually hugged Redbeard, Master mine. That is a courtesy I don't often see from you."

"Shut up, John."

The wretched creature giggled.

"Master, can I ask what Mycroft wants-?"

"No," the knight cut off his child. "You will be less tempted with it this way."

"I'm not tempted," John huffed indignantly. "I learned my lesson."

Sherlock felt a strong shiver through the Force and knew it wasn't only John's trepidation shining through. Again his lips found the smooth skin of his padawan's temple, regret bubbled in his chest. It was a lesson Sherlock never wanted his child to have learned, at least not in that way.

Sherlock crossed the threshold to their temporary home. Satisfied his padawan had calmed himself enough to walk on his own, Sherlock released John to the ground. The boy gave him a pained look, clearly wanting to remain in his master's arms. The knight knelt in front of his child and stroked a calming hand through his hair. "You sulk more than I, little one," Sherlock said fondly.

"I know pets aren't allowed, Master…but still it'd be nice to have something. You know…cause you're gone so often," John mumbled. "Or he could sit with me at your meetings."

Sherlock stiffened. Hurt flashed across their bond so harshly that John recoiled. The older Jedi turned his face from his padawan. "I told you, John. You did not have to come with us, nor did you have to kneel if you did. If you were that bothered by it, you should have informed me."

"That's not…It's not the kneeling thing. I get lonely sometimes, even when we're in the same room. A pup would be nice for when you're busy, so I don't bother you."

Only his child would think himself a burden when he was perfectly behaved. Sherlock drew him close, relishing how easily the small child came to him. John leaned his full weight against Sherlock's shoulder, nestling closely. "I meant you no offense," John said with childish politeness.

"It takes more than your antics to offend me, little one. But you will tell me if something bothers you from now on," Sherlock commanded.

"I am very bothered that you won't allow me to keep the pup, Master," John piped up.

"Shush," Sherlock scoffed with pride.

The pair walked gracefully through the open door of their home. Sherlock became rigid before the child could register what was going on. John froze as Mycroft knelt before the holograms of the entire Jedi council, Sherlock grasped John's shoulders.

"Go to your room, little one," Sherlock's voice had a deadly quiet to it.

"Yes, sir," John said swiftly. He took several steps to his room.

"Wait, youngling," Master Windu said shortly.

"He's-" Sherlock was a silenced by a raised hand.

"You are excused from this meeting, Master Holmes."

They were already cutting him out before he had a chance to defend his reasons. A chance to defend his child from a dangerous mission.

Damn Mycroft.

Damn him!

oOo

The boy knelt at Mycroft's side trembling in fear.

Mycroft did not reach to comfort the child, however John did scoot as close to him as the master allowed. Mycroft readdressed the grandmaster for the silent padawan. It seemed Sherlock had neglected to teach the boy proper edict when dealing with council. John flinched when at last a master addressed him.

"We are sorry to put you through this, my young friend," Master Plo said softly.

John shook his head. "Can't…can't a female master come? She can-"

"Outsiders will be welcome even less," Master Windu said patiently.

"But I'm not-"

Mycroft sighed, "You're scent is that of a Gorian, young one. You will be well disguised."

John stared intently on at his hands.

On his knees again.

"Master says no," John said quietly. "He does not want me to go into a dangerous situation without him."

Mycroft cast the rebelling child a dark look, John clenched his hands into fists. Dark rage bloomed in the master's chest. It was pacified immediately, but it did not stop the dark look he cast the boy. How dare a child, not even a true padawan's age, defy a whole council? He was truly Sherlock's boy. John flexed his hands thoughtfully.

"I don't want to cause offense to the council, truly. But this mission, dismissing him, is an insult undeserved to my master. I will do as the council commands, naturally, but please don't cut him out. He is slightly over protective, and I am slightly disobedient. It is a balance."

Master Yoda struck his chin thoughtfully, no doubt mulling over an appropriate punishment for-

"Take this mission, you will. Close to your master, stay you must," the elder said swiftly. "Treacherous this will be."

"I can do it with Sherlock's help," the boy promised. His jaw set defiantly, ready to take on any accusations of over attachment. Reckless the child may be, his actions were somewhat admirable. How the boy could have learned at Mycroft's feet instead of his little brother's. John fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Then the support of Goria rest on your shoulders, John Watson. You will negotiate for the Republic with the Highest Priestess. May the Force be with you."

And with that, the council cut out.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was beyond enraged.

"Behind my back! With my padawan!" the knight roared.

"He is our last hope of saving this planet, Sherlock," Mycroft snapped back.

John shrank deeper into his seat, trying not to disturb the feuding masters. Sherlock had commanded him to take supper promptly, the boy hadn't dared disobey orders from on high tonight. Not when his master was so kriffing angry.

"He is the last hope of saving this planet for the Republic! This planet has been corrupted since they sent babes to parish if they are not deemed worthy!"

"Watch your emotions, my brother. Your thoughts betray you," Mycroft said calmly.

"Oh yes. The precious Island loves this planet. Forgive me," Sherlock snarked. He threw himself into the seat next to John and ripped away a bit of cheese. Where it would have normally been followed with a protest, this time John stayed perfectly silent. Master could have all his supper if it would calm him down.

John pushed the small plate of meat and cheese towards his teacher, but Sherlock motioned it away. The boy frowned down at his food. "You always feel better when you eat," he mumbled.

Sherlock took a bit more cheese.

Mycroft frowned between the two of them. A look that was getting quite old in John's humble opinion. John took a deep steadying breath, he had to try to calm his mentor down or risk upsetting Mycroft further. Gently he nudged his master side.

"Be nice," he implored. "You haven't apologized yet, Master. You-"

"If you are about to imply that I owe this man something after what he has done this evening, let me halt you, John. In fact I think I shall take the bed meant for me tonight, if you don't mind, Mycroft," Sherlock said sharply as he rose from the table. "John, you will finish your supper and come to bed. You will need rest if we are to depart to the high temple tomorrow."

"I thought the High priestess was in the temple in town," John said surprised.

"On some days," Mycroft said easily. "It would be easier to reach her there than where must go tomorrow."

John swallowed. "Oh."

"You're thoughts betray you also, padawan," Mycroft said taking the seat across from John. "You are uneasy."

John shook his head. He wasn't about to confide in Mycroft, not after this mission. At the start the master had been the most feared swordsman next to Master Dooku. Now he was big poodoo head who was mean to his master every chance he got. John swallowed down a sip of milk.

"Ah, yes. I remember that face. You are cross with me," Mycroft said, surprisingly gentle. "You think I have betrayed Sherlock."

Again there was a frightened head shake. John gripped his mug tightly, observing as the blue liquid sloshed in his cup. It wasn't that he betrayed Sherlock, but Mycroft was being cruel by excluding his master's opinion. John fingered the hilt of his mug. "How come you two don't like each other?"

Mycroft pondered for a moment. "You are evading the question," he said eventually.

"There was no question given, Master," John said nervously into his cup.

Mycroft's lips twitched. "Remember those skills when you begin negotiations."

John's head dipped further over his food. The mood to talk was not with him, but the understanding that Mycroft was the higher rank and had not dismissed him yet kept him planted in his seat. He gingerly ate some of the assortments of meat.

"My padawan used to hate Gorian food," Mycroft said suddenly. "She always claimed it tasted like rancor poodoo."

The trick worked.

John smiled.

"It's alright," he said with a slightly more merry tone. "But Master says I'd eat anything that didn't eat me first. 'Specially when I get hungry."

"If you are anything like Anthea, I imagine that is often."

The boy nodded eagerly. John offered some of his supper to the older man, hoping to hear more of his fellow padawan. Mycroft looked at the offer with some distain, but eventually accepted some.

"How come Anthea was thirteen when she was apprenticed?" John prompted swiftly.

Mycroft swallowed thoughtfully. "Many masters thought her power was too raw, and she was far too reckless to be taken as a padawan. I saw an opportunity to have a strong learner, and I took it."

John looked slightly blank for a moment. "I guess it's better than having the council decide for you…"

Mycroft frowned at the blatant impertinence, John flinched at his own words. "Can I be excused?"

"May I," the master corrected.

John bowed his head. "May I be excused?"

"Would it truly be so awful, young one? Having me for a master?" Mycroft asked quietly.

John panicked. No, no they couldn't take him away from Sherlock. They had passed all their exams, and Sherlock was his master, no one else. He wouldn't allow it, he had to stay with Sherlock.

"Anthea died because she would not obey me. You and your master avoid my instructions at every possible turn. Even now you are far too eager to be away from me," Mycroft said with a sad smile. "Sherlock I can understand, but I never thought I had wronged you."

Oh.

OH!

He had hurt Mycroft's feelings.

It was hard to imagine someone as strong and powerful as Mycroft having feelings that were vulnerable, but Mycroft was a person too. John felt guilt raising in his throat, hugging the master was out of the question. No doubt it would not be appreciated, but John felt a strong need to make amends for his misdemeanor. He shoved his plate away.

"Master, I didn't mean to be disrespectful. I don't think being your padawan would be a terrible thing, but I do have a master of my own. And I will go to him and follow his orders first. Not because you give poor instruction, but…but he's my master," John explained carefully.

Mycroft sighed at the young boy. "You were meant to be mine, you know. I visited you when you were a babe of four."

John nodded, memories of a ginger haired man hanging about when he was younger filtered into his mind. Mycroft had never played with him or reached for him, it was mostly a lingering presences. Even when learning about masters as a youngling, John had never thought of Mycroft presences as a potential master. A master was supposed to reach for their padawan as much padawans reached for masters. That's what Sherlock had taught him anyway. Mycroft had simply never reached.

" _What are you doing there, Jo-Jo?"_

_The four year old toddler blinked up at his new guardian, Master Ali, and smiled. Though he didn't cared to be called Jo-Jo, the offense went unscorned as the tot rolled up from his cot. "S'eeping," he said, while reaching for the Rodian master._

" _Sleeping? How can you be so aware if you are sleeping, my young friend?" The alien master chuckled. He hoisted the growing tot into his arms and beamed as the normally shy child snuggled into him._

_The boy, just learning about the Force and its mystical ways frowned thoughtfully. "The Force, Master?"_

" _Ah, from the mouth of babes," the Jedi smiled. "Master Mycroft has come again today, would you like to see him?"_

_To his surprise the boy's head shook. "No, he never plays wif' me. Master Jenno, she can come," the boy decided swiftly. Jenno was a Falleen knight who had her eyes on one of the older boys, a Michael Stamford. Though she refused to claim him until he was at least twelve. Often times she could be seen rolling about the floor with several younglings in tow._

" _I think you must see Mycroft for a little while, Jo-Jo. He may be your master someday," the Rodian said gently._

" _Nope," the boy said pleasantly. "My master has curly hair, and…and…an…atti-attidude?"_

" _An attitude?"_

" _Yes!" the boy clapped his hands excitedly. "And he'll play wif' me and give me kissies. Master Mycroft won't give kissies."_

" _How do you know this, young one?"_

" _B'isions,"the boy said brightly._

_It was the delusions of a child._

_No Jedi master would ever give kisses._

_The Rodian master carried the little child into the play room, John's arms tightened around the alien's neck as he noticed Mycroft standing off in the corner. Shyly, he buried his face into his guardian's neck and shook his head. The new Jedi master secretly frightened him. He couldn't explain what was so frightening, only that he did want Master Ali to leave him alone with the stranger. Ali gently extracted the child in order to pass him over to Mycroft._

_The older Jedi made no move to take the child. It was absolutely ridiculous, even the odd knight, Sherlock, would hold the younglings when he came to visit Enora. John blinked up at the older master as if to say "I told you so". He set the small boy down on the play room's matted floor._

" _Be very good, Jo-Jo," he said lightly._

" _Yes, Master," the boy said unsurely._

"I hate being called, Jo-Jo," John muttered as his mind flashed back to the present. Nicknames in general drove him mad. His name was John. Just John.

"Poodoo Breath!" Sherlock called from the other room.

John unlaced his left boot and threw it at the young man, Sherlock barely missed it. John's grin only lasted for a short time, he turned back to Mycroft with a small incline of the head. "It's not that you are a bad master, sir. It's just…Sherlock's mine…If roles were reversed, Anthea would have declined Sherlock for you." John smiled brightly and darted to his room where Sherlock was waiting with a left boot in hand. John giggled and reached towards the older man happily.

Sherlock smirked and pressed the little one against his stomach, holding him tightly.

"Little one," he said warmly.

John cooed.

oOo

He could remember everything about the day Anthea had come to him.

Nervous, unsure of why she was being summoned, perhaps she had thought she was at last being sent to Agri-Corps. It was a place for children who did not move on to be padawans, no doubt it had been a frightful time for her.

Dooku had been adamant that he not take a learner only sixteen years his junior. It was far too risky, padawans needed to see their masters as a guardian figure, not a potential equal. But Mycroft had ignored his master's warning and taken the young Twi'lek as his padawan.

"Master? Why me?" she had asked him after they had finally bonded.

"Because you will be a strong Jedi one day, young one. And I need someone powerful to carry on my lineage," Mycroft explained shortly. Anthea had reached a hand down to him to raise him up. In a smooth motion he stood up without the aid of her smaller hand.

"Oh…. Yes, Master." The Twi'lek frowned, "Is that all, Master?"

"Yes, young one."

"Oh…"

oOo

John sat perfectly balanced on the bed, a cup of milk in his hand

Sherlock was fussing about his padawan, preparing the child for bed. A noisy slurp caused Sherlock to scowl sternly at the boy. John giggled and made his master accept his milk glass. The young boy wrapped his arms around his master's strong neck, he buried his nose into the nape and nuzzled it affectionately.

"Are you still mad at me, Master?" the boy asked nervously.

"I was never angry with you, little one," Sherlock said roughly. "You're not at fault here."

The knight lay his child back against the cool sheets and watched closely as the boy fussed about under the covers. Everything had to be completely set before John would consider going to sleep. His bear had to be present, his blankets had to be drawn around him by Sherlock, and his master had to give him a firm kiss to the forehead. It was a simple enough list, not in the least bit demanding or without reason. Sherlock smoothed the sheets around the young Jedi carefully.

"When I make negotiations, Master, will the priestesses be mean to me?"

The small boy trembled with some fear. Sherlock carded a gentle hand in his hair, wishing his padawan did not have to take the mission alone. In truth the priestesses would like hear what the boy had to say and then demand evidence to back up the statements. John was only a little boy, it would be a difficult task for him.

"I don't know, John," Sherlock said fairly. He leaned forward and gently kissed the boy's temple. "You will have to be brave, my padawan."

"But you'll stay with me as long as you can, right?" the boy implored.

"Always."


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock insisted that John bundle himself warmly.

When John had originally come out in a light snow suit, Sherlock had fussed about him until the boy could no longer move his head from side to side. Honestly, what had the boy been thinking coming out in only a light snow jacket? Even Mycroft was fiercely bundled in preparation for the harsh elements a head. John huffed loudly as Sherlock helped him with his backpack.

"This is ridiculous, Master!" John said with annoyance. "I don't like all these clothes!" Indeed the boy could often be found with no shoes and shirtless.

"John, are truly going to argue with me while Mycroft is standing near?" Sherlock was half tempted to knock the boy down, as an experiment to test the work of gravity on a very angry, bundled, little boy. But John was already turning to Mycroft, demanding that he tell the knight how foolish it was. Mycroft chuckled.

"Even I agree with Sherlock, young one. Where we are going you will want to be bundled," Mycroft said calmingly. Sherlock gave a stiff nod of thanks and checked John over.

The only exposed flesh was on John's round face, he would be well protected from the cold of the mountains. With his odd shaped nose and pouting lower lip, John looked no older than five. Sherlock knelt slowly and cupped the boy's chin delicately. "It is for your safety, John. You are not used to the cold, your people were not built to survive it."

John made a low whimpering sound and pushed gently into Sherlock's chest. The knight held him closely to his shoulder, soothing him with soft words. John nodded slowly as his master pulled away. "Come along, John," he said lightly.

"Yes, Master." John toddled eagerly behind Sherlock. The knight could barely resist sweeping his padawan up into his arms and mocking him mercilessly. But with his brother present, and he was forced only to guide John closer to his side and grin down at the boy. John rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same.

Sherlock gave a shrill whistle that cut through the thin morning air, John grabbed his ears in surprise. The knight chuckled.

There was a thundering of feet as two familiar wrywolves came into sight. John began doing the small, in place, dance he often did when excited. Affection creeped into Sherlock's chest. As a boy, no one had been more important to him than Redbeard. Now John held that title, but was not jealous by its former. In fact, the boy seemed to genuinely love Redbeard. Sherlock continued to muse on the thought until his overzealous wolf plowed him over. John giggled delightedly as Sherlock was pinned beneath two large paws.

Brat.

"Get off!" he snapped at the wolf, shoving him away. John's giggles became shrieks of joy as Sherlock chased the little boy about the yard. At last he snatched the boy against his chest, John pressed his hooded head under the knight's chin and nuzzled him. Sherlock ran a slow finger down his child's oddly shaped nose and tapped it lightly. John giggled happily.

"Master, can't I just take off the boots?" John thrust out his lower lip. "Just the boots?"

"Little one, you will need them," Sherlock said sternly. "Don't be childish."

"Ah…" the child whined.

Sherlock helped John sit astride his wrywolf's shoulders, the boy pulled himself higher onto his mount. Sherlock swung himself up behind the boy after attaching their bag to Redbeard's sides. Another shrill whistle cut through the still air, shattering in it effectively. Thunderous footsteps announced the arrival of Redbeard's mate, to which Mycroft strode over almost uneasily.

"She will be calm?" he questioned Sherlock evenly.

"Probably," Sherlock grinned, pulling John closer to him. The boy tugged at his master sleeves insistently.

"What about the pups?"

"Safe with the priestesses," Sherlock said calmly. He wrapped another cloak around John's shoulders, shielding him from the future weather. "If you get cold, you will tell me."

John huffed indignantly. "Yes, Master."

Sherlock dug his heels into Redbeard's sides with a command forward. The wolf surged forward, causing John to tumble back into Sherlock's chest. The knight chuckled as they turned into a thicket, a mountain out lining the horizon.

Their destination on top.

oOo

It was so wizard!

John clutched at the fur between Redbeard's shoulder blades, every now and then stealing glances at Mycroft. The master looked as though he rode wrywolves every day of his life as he balanced gracefully on the silver female's back.

His own master had an absolutely thrilled look on his face. At least from what John could sense. Stupid clothes kept him from looking backwards. Sherlock's right arm was circled tightly around him, keeping the unstable child from falling. John shuddered as a sudden chill filtered through the air.

_Speak through the bond now, little one. It is about to get dangerously cold. Pull your scarf up._

John obediently pulled his scarf over his nose as the temperature around them plummeted. The child bowed his head against the fierce wind, his eyes stung painfully.

_Master!_

Sherlock turned the boy around so he could bury his face in to soft fabrics of the knight's coat. The nine year old whimpered painfully, his natural instincts unused to freezing temperatures. Another cloak was drawn around the boy's shoulders.

_You were bred for the tropics, I knew this would be hard on you._

Master sounded angry.

More so John could feel the tension grow between his master and Mycroft. He felt a sudden shift, heard a sudden grunt, and managed to peek out of his master's arm pit. Mycroft had been pelted with some of the frozen crystals formed in to a ball. Sherlock grinned triumphantly and turned John's face back towards the warmth.

"How do you fair, brother mine?" Sherlock called above the wind. "I know your body is more padded than John's or mine! Is it working to your advantage?"

There was an abrupt popping noise, and John looked up to see his master's face cover in ice.

_Did you truly expect him not to get you back, Master?_

_Shut up, John_.

John giggled.

_How much further?_

_Days._

John mentally groaned and nestled in closer to Sherlock. The knight kept the child held close as the wolves leapt over the snowy terrain. The wind whipped around them cruelly, John shook his head as the minutes turned into hours. How was Sherlock able to with stand the cold so easily?

_When I was a boy, your grandfather used to drag me into the mountains in just my undergarments._

John blinked up at Sherlock, surprised with the story.

_At that age I was mostly used to heat, burns from Moriarty. I thought perhaps I had angered Lestrade into taking me up into a freezing climate. But your grandfather did not make me face it alone, he came with, in nothing but his socks at one point. That was how I knew it wasn't a punishment, Moriarty never took burns with me. I found myself enjoying the cold much more than the heat._

_You like this weather, Master?_ John was appalled.

_I thrive in it. My mind is sharper in the frost, the ice is not a punishment. It is learning and strength to me. I would have lived on Hoth if Master Yoda had allowed it._

_There is no one on Hoth, Sherlock…_

_Precisely._

The rode in silence for ages until Sherlock called a halt to their expedition and drove the wolves into a cave. John's numb fingers remained tangled in Redbeard's fur, he could hardly slide down as Sherlock called to him.

"Why have we stopped?" Mycroft demanded at once. "We agreed on at least another four hours of-"

"John is weary, he hungers, and he needs to warm himself, Mycroft. He is only nine years old, we knew a twenty hour ride was a stretch." Sherlock hefted John from Redbeard's back and pulled him close. "He cannot go another four minutes."

John tried to apologize, he really did, but his numb face refused to move for him. He settled into Sherlock's warmth peacefully, Mycroft scowling behind them. At once he was stripped of his soaking clothes and placed in front of a warm fire. Sherlock draped a dry cloak around his shoulders and ordered Redbeard to lay around the boy. A cocoon of content warmth, the boy smiled gratefully.

Sherlock passed him over a decent amount of food and a packet of nectar. After the boy lay warmed and full, he set out to feed the wolves. John found himself leaning heavily into Redbeard's stomach, falling asleep to the sounds of Sherlock speaking in a low voice to his childhood friend.

The blond head lolled forward, and the boy was gone.

oOo

Mycroft wasn't arguing with him.

Mycroft always argued with him about John.

Was he _dying_?

Sherlock made certain John was warm enough, tucked him in with his sleeping robe and bear, and placed a firm kiss on the boy's forehead. Redbeard could easily sense the knight's affection for the boy, and therefore was more protective of him in honor of his human's caring. Sherlock stroked a soft hand through the damp blond hair. His child had done admirably for a nine year old. No doubt most children would have cried or whined. John had only complained once that his eyes hurt.

Strong boy.

The young man set off in the direction of his brother, briefly flirting with the idea of bringing a life-starting kit, when he came across the elder Holmes sitting cross legged in front of a hologram of a stone faced man. A wild gesture was made at the holograms expense, and Mycroft looked less than calm.

"I warned them this is the path I would take. Whether or not the council choose to act on it is not my fault, Father. We are already a third of the way there. You cannot halt our progress," Mycroft said angered.

"You are a bastard, Mycroft. How do you think the council is reacting to being outsmarted by a bastard boy!" their father roared.

"I think you will find I am hardly a boy anymore, Papa. I warn you not to cross me on this mission. This planet is my home, I only want it in safety."

"We have always dealt with both the Republic and the Separatists. Why should we change our ways now?" Jovian retorted crossly.

"This is not up for discussion," Mycroft said with a silencing hand. "My companion and I are on our way to meet with the priestesses, we have a child in our tow, this will be addressed."

"I have not had the pleasure of meeting your companion yet, perhaps he will be more reasonable with the situation."

"He is taking care of the child and cannot be disturbed," Mycroft said abruptly. The hologram flickered with annoyance, the Holmes sire glared down at his eldest son.

"You will do more harm than good."

"It is a risk we shall take," the master waved away the hologram with a tired flick of the wrist. He passed an exhausted hand over his face before raising from his place on the floor. With a great sigh, he stretched his lower back. "Horrible man."

"And yet you've chosen to take on his scent," Sherlock said coolly.

"To appease, brother mine. Something I find you to be quite foreign at."

Sherlock growled lowly, an open challenge that Mycroft declined with a small shrug of the shoulders. "How is the boy?"

"He cannot be trusted," Sherlock said coldly, ignoring the question.

"Now, brother mine, whoever said I trust was involved."

Sherlock huffed angrily as Mycroft strode pass him with his head held high. The knight steadied himself carefully. Former words from his master brought his heart rate from back to its normal pace. It had been a long lesson from Lestrade to stop hating his father. Three years it had taken his master to calm him.

It was not something he wanted John sensing from him.

oOo

Mycroft was woken in the middle of the night to a rough shaking of his shoulder.

With less grace than he'd ever admit, he roused himself swiftly. The hilt of saber was in his hands in a matter of seconds, but his brother's cool gaze stilled him. The older master groaned softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do not tell me you had a nightmare?"

Sherlock was opening the blanket cocoon Mycroft had made around himself.

"Sherlock," the elder Holmes started to protest. The knight at last succeeded in removing the little warmth he had. Cold air attacked him with little mercy, as it had been doing all night, but its ferocity increased aggressively. Sherlock was laying something against his chest that was warm and solid. Mycroft shifted uneasily with the parcel he had been passed.

The boy.

A confused eyebrow arched as Sherlock began rewrapping the new duo.

"Take him, he is as warm as a furnace. I have Redbeard to keep me warm, you were being insufferable with your constant whimpering about the cold," Sherlock said with no bite. There may have even been some sympathy in his eyes.

"This almost makes you caring," Mycroft said evenly.

"It just means your wolf hasn't taken to you yet. These wolves are like heated mattress, the fact that yours won't go near you at night makes it difficult to adapt," Sherlock snapped.

Still kind.

The blasted child was mistaking him for Sherlock and trying to snuggle with him. A broad hand to the back of the boy's neck stilled him shortly. Blue eyes flickered open rapidly, at once alert that he was no longer up close with his master. Sherlock leant in close, whispered something softly into the boy's ear, and went back to his own sleeping area where his wolf was waiting. John seemed to accept whatever Sherlock had decreed and settled carefully into the Jedi master's hold.

By the Force the boy was warm!

Sherlock must have kept him close to the temperature of his home world.

The boy was no longer cuddling, but proceeded to lay his head on the master's shoulder. Silently he closed his eyes, his breathing began to steady itself. In a matter of minutes the boy was sleeping again. Panicked, Mycroft looked around for his younger brother to take the padawan back. There was every possibility that Mycroft could roll and crush him in the night, or thrash out in nightmare or-

_You won't. Breathe Mycroft. You think I would give my padawan to someone idiotic enough to crush him in the night?_

_I-_

_Go to sleep you daft man._

With a final look at the sleeping boy, Mycroft released his fears into the Force and shifted.

_Fine._


	10. Chapter 10

He never knew why his brother was so good with children.

Silently he observed his brother throwing the young boy onto the red wolf's back. Both Jedi were a lit with laughter, teasing and snapping playfully at each other. Anyone who had grown up knowing Sherlock would have never expected him to be so well behaved with a child. Nor would they have guessed him to be a caring guardian, who even occasionally stooped to packing the boy a lunch. Domestic.

Sherlock was wrapping the child in cloaks, arguing with him about wearing his boots, and covering the blond head with a hat. John giggled as his face was bound in scarves by his chuckling master. Mycroft would have smiled if attachment weren't so heavily frowned upon. The boy swung his short legs over the beast's sides, dangling them there as Sherlock attempted to put on his boots. The boy jerked away at the last second.

"Padawan!" Sherlock gave a mock roar and lunged for the unruly boy.

Honestly, it was a child raising a child.

They tussled on the cave's floor, desperately trying to pin the other. Sherlock wound up on top of his padawan's back and forced the young one's boots over his feet. John huffed rather dramatically as his master hoisted him into the air. "Cheater."

"Brat."

Honestly.

The night's earlier…happenings had the Jedi master nearly speechless. Sherlock had simply handed him his padawan as if there was a mutual trust between the two. Never before had the knight trusted him with something so precious to himself, and with such ease. It had even seemed to be without prompt from the child.

The child.

How interesting the boy had been. He had curled into a tight ball against Mycroft's chest, the feeling had been…odd. Warm, undeniably warm, and every now and then he had cuddled into him carefully. The padawan hadn't clung to him as he often did for Sherlock. In fact the boy had remained stiff and clearly uncomfortable until his master spoke softly into his ear. Almost immediately the child had relaxed.

Sherlock had so much control over the boy.

And vice versa.

The child's latest phrase was "for me, Master".

Any time the boy uttered it, Sherlock grumbled softly and carried out the boy's wishes. John chattered softly into his master's ear and lay his head on the strong shoulder. His brother shook his head and cast the older Holmes a darkened glance.

"Stop. It's not his fault, Sherlock," the boy scolded.

"You are cold, small one," he muttered.

"'cause of the wind! Not Master Mycroft."

Sherlock scowled down at his child as the boy wiggled to be put down. Mycroft noted the crinkle around the boy's coat and knew that Sherlock had tightened his grip. John huffed in annoyance, but leant closer to Sherlock.

The knight considered the older master wearily as he brought the boy to him slowly. After a long glare, his little brother set the padawan at his feet and clasped his shoulder with a broad hand. Exhaustion swept through the master as the tension built between the two adults. He was still unforgiven then.

"If you are not going to teach him, then I shall," Mycroft said at the end of his patience.

"Do I got to?" John begged up to Sherlock. "I don't have to, I know how to eat and be nice. I'm nine." The boy displayed his mutiny like any insulted child would. A heavy stomp of the foot and pouting lip.

Sherlock ran a hand over the boy's ear, encouraging patience and relaxation. The softness shared between his two companions was foreign to the master. Never had his own master soothed him as such. A stern glance was all the soothing affect Mycroft had required as a boy.

"You need to learn the etiquette of a diplomat, and Mycroft is the more suited one to teach you manners at such a meeting." The boy's master stroked his padawan's hair softly. A rare compliment? Was the younger man ill?

"Yeah, but I'm not that bad…" the child bowed his head like a scolded youngling. His brother capitalized on the moment of self-doubt and knelt in front of the child. His hands each took a shoulder, shaking them gently.

"There is always room for improvement, John," his brother said gently, neither chiding the boy, nor praising him. Sherlock's cub nodded obediently, turning his young face up to Mycroft with a soft sigh. Mycroft thought he heard the word "apologize" flutter through the Force, but that would be im-

"Forgive me, Master Mycroft," the boy said humbly. His master nodded curtly before turning back to his wolves, a hand carded through the thick fur on the wolf's snout. The ice blue eyes that Mycroft shared with his brother, narrowed in anticipation. There was no trust in the as there had been the previous night, no assurance of belief that Mycroft could in fact teach John something. Sherlock leaned back into his wolf as the etiquette lesson began, watching them closely.

Mycroft motioned the cub closer, watching closely as the boy toddled toward him. A young stance, no proper posture, no respective bowing of the head, John maintained his gaze directly into Mycroft's. The master jabbed two fingers into the young back to make him stand taller, the cub yelped with pain. Sherlock didn't stir. Next the master set to work on the boy's stance.

Legs had to be shoulder width apart, not knocking together with nerves. He forced the boy's hands down at his sides, instead of their usual crossed positions. The cub sank his teeth deep into his lip.

Nasty habit. Unworthy of a diplomat.

It was corrected.

"Master," the boy at last whined.

"Endure, padawan," the knight ordered firmly.

"Y-yes, Master," the boy looked almost fearfully back to Mycroft. The cub tugged at his sleeves unconsciously, the master nearly rolled his eyes. John peeked at Sherlock. Did he have to act so childish?

Mycroft caught the small chin and forced the sky blue eyes forward, away from his master. There was a slight bob of the boy's Adam's apple as he swallowed nervously. "Eyes forward at all times, however, keep your gaze respectful. Bow when the high priestess enters, a full five seconds."

"But that's longer than I bow to Master Sherlock!" the boy protested with childish loyalty.

"John," Sherlock said softly. His cub turned to him with rebellion in his eyes.

"I-"

"Will do as you're told. Exactly as Mycroft instructs you," Sherlock said sternly.

_What?_

"You are going into a danger zone, and they do not take kindly to males. You will go into this with all the training necessary to stay safe. And you will do so without complaint." Sherlock stepped forward slightly, extending his arm for his cub to duck under. John ran to him, hugging him around the waist.

"You are alright," Sherlock said frankly.

"I don't like this," the boy muttered.

"I know." Sherlock made no move to comfort his padawan. John was only allowed to his master for a short time, before Sherlock nudged him lightly. "Back to your lesson."

"Can't you teach me? Can't you-"

"Mycroft is better with people," Sherlock said in monotone. "You will learn from him. Go."

A small shove and the boy was in front of Mycroft once more. Misery laced through the boy's features as he realized he was no longer in his master's arms. With an incline of his head, he resumed the former stance Mycroft had put him in. The master nodded his approval.

"Eating habits next."

oOo

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

There was not much food packed, but they practiced with what they could. Master was watching him closely with that stupid narrowed gaze he got when he was really upset, but didn't want to say anything. Mycroft was explaining to him what forks to use, which napkins were appropriate to use, and why he was not allowed to finish all the food on his plate. And then Master jumped in with why he couldn't have desserts at the feast that would be provided.

"But I-"

"Youngling," his master growled.

"Yes, my wise master," the boy replied sarcastically.

"Sit up straighter, Padawan," Mycroft instructed. "And elbows off the table, please."

Master offered him a sweet cake as a peace offering, John took it slowly and nibbled at its corner. Mycroft snatched it away from swiftly and placed it on his plate. A fork and knife were shoved into his hand.

"Jedi do not nibble."

John glanced at Sherlock pleadingly.

"A break," Sherlock said slowly. "Give the boy a rest."

"After he proves he can eat like a young man, not a child."

John obediently cut a corner of the sweet cake and put it in his mouth. Sherlock's fist clenched on the table as the boy took another bite.

"Satisfied?" Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. "Very well. John, you may be excused."

The padawan snatched up his sweet cake without another word and dashed over to Sherlock's side. The knight hoisted him onto his lap as John gnawed aggressively on his cake. John watched as Sherlock poured a glass of nectar. A moment later the cup was pressed into his hand, John swallowed greedily.

Sherlock said nothing as John continued to eat silently in his lap. Mycroft stroked his bearded chin, deep in thought as the boy finished his sweet cake.

"It will suffice," he said shortly. Sherlock released a breath above him and lay his chin on the soft hair of his padawan. A cold nose nudged behind the boy's ear as Sherlock shifted, causing the boy to giggle.

"You think he will be alright?" Sherlock spoke quietly.

"As long as he remembers his manners and protocols, they will have no reason to harm a child." Mycroft ran a tired hand over his face, but seemed relieved. "He is a fast learner, he will be fine."

Sherlock looked unconvinced, uncomfortable, and more so, uninterested. John could have kicked him for being so impassive towards his previous torture. It wasn't as if Master had had to go through four different forks and be told dessert would not be served to him. A sigh pushed through the youngest Jedi's lips as he leaned fully into his master, surprised that Mycroft had not yet objected.

"Master, may I be excused?" the boy questioned, to wanting to spoil the peaceful mood between his masters. The knight set the child onto the cold cave floor and watched him scampered away. Master's eyes were following him as he found an empty sack and began playing tug-a-war with Redbeard.

"How bored are you, brother mine?" Mycroft said lazily. Sherlock raised an uninterested eyebrow as Redbeard rolled him over onto his back. "Spar me. I grow weary of the day."

"Agreed."

The knight shed his out robes and tunics. Mycroft followed suit. Both Jedi stood shirtless in the cold night air, neither male showed the weakness of shuddering. John watched amazed as Mycroft drew his saber from its hilt with a sharp hiss. The knight merely crossed his arms lethargically. John peeped up at his master excitedly, it wasn't often he witnessed his masters spar.

The older Jedi bowed professionally, Sherlock still had not drawn his saber. The master lunged at the younger man, his saber held high in an attack position. Sherlock rolled out of the way in time to send his older brother soring overhead. Mycroft corrected in time to aim a low swing at Sherlock's shins, the knight at least drew his saber. The air sizzled as the sabers clashed viscously, John grinned as both Jedi sent a flurry of blows raining down.

Master's style consisted of more dodges than Mycroft's. The younger Holmes stayed on the end of the other's offensive attacks, searching for a weakness in the blows. The older man was far more aggressive with his technics, sending sparks flying into the younger man's face. Master gave no indication that he had been harmed.

John threw his fist in the air eagerly as Sherlock flipped backwards to evade attack. The eldest Jedi took the moment to call off the fight before the singed any more of the cave's walls. Sherlock deactivated the saber with a satisfied hiss. With a slight raise of his arm he summoned John to him, the boy eagerly obeyed.

"That was wicked, Master! So cool! Where? How? Show me?" John scrambled into Sherlock's arms. He pulled at the knight's ear until the older man turned his head downward until John could whisper to him. "You gotta show me how to be that good."

Sherlock just smirked. "Time for bed."

"Aw!"

oOo

"Am I sleeping with Master Mycroft again?"

John was looking at his feet shyly, his sleeping tunic pooled around his ankles. The ensemble made him look smaller than he already was, the knight frowned. "Do you not want to?"

There. Hesitation.

"I don't want him to be cold again," the boy said truthfully. "But he…doesn't like me very much."

Ah. The blind child, didn't know how attached the older master was becoming. Sherlock pulled the boy in closer by the back of his neck, until John was clinging to him tightly. The young knight soothed the boy carefully, his child had a knack for self-loathing when it suited him. Redbeard trotted over interestedly, sniffing the pair as he grew closer. John smiled at his favorite wolf.

"I kinda like it when I'm with you and Redbeard too. No offense to Master Mycroft or anything…" the boy cringed slightly in his master's arms.

Sherlock frowned.

Attachment.

"Go to Mycroft, little one. You are the one who complains I don't let you assist enough," Sherlock smirked.

"And if I have a nightmare?" the boy whispered.

"Go to Mycroft, padawan," Sherlock said more firmly. "Rest, breathe, you will be fine."

"Yes, Master…"

And with that the child trudged off to find Mycroft.

His brother had damn well been grateful.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft hated the long talks with his father.

No. No not hate, Jedi did not hate. But the conversations were tedious to say the least, the old man would drone on, always coming back to Mycroft's status as a bastard. At last his father finished his rant, his face visibly flushed even over hologram. His breathing was ragged as his abusive shouting came to a close. An unsuccessful rage at his eldest son for his disobedience and his open defiance.

"I happen to be close friends with a Separatist leader, Mycroft," his father snapped.

Mycroft dreaded how much like Sherlock their father looked. The only striking difference was the silver that streaked their father's hair and his nose. The elder man's eyes narrowed, the Jedi shifted.

"Yes, I have heard of your friend. James Moriarty?" Mycroft said with mock uncertainty. "I also know the price of his friendship and advise you not to press the issue with me. I was not thrilled to discover your decision with my younger brother."

"A boy you have never met can hardly count as your "brother". Just as he would hardly count as my cub," Jovian snapped.

Mycroft smirked at the thought of Lestrade and his former padawan. The silver haired master had always been found with a dark haired boy at his side, the child eagerly awaiting a new lesson or his master's attention. It was unlikely Sherlock would count himself Jovian's cub either. Jovian's eyes narrowed.

"What is it?"

"I fear it would go over your head," Mycroft chuckled fondly. He waved his hand over his comm, effectively cutting off his father's image. It did not take long for his brother to find the elder Holmes mulling over the conversation in his head. The knight sat across from him with an ungraceful flop. They had been riding for days, both men at the end of their energy reserves. The child was sleeping whenever he wasn't eating or traveling. Jedi could go for days without proper sleep or food, but preferred not to.

Sherlock cupped his chin in his hand and gazed inquisitively at his brother. "How was the hundark?"

"Still irate, as usual. How is the boy?"

"Still sleeping. His body can barely handle this weather, but he will press on because he doesn't dare disappoint the Order," Sherlock said crossly. "Idiot boy."

"Admirable trait in a young Jedi," Mycroft said easily.

"I do not want him to-" Sherlock hesitated.

"To?" Mycroft prompted.

His little brother shook his head slowly, his thoughts made his eyes cloud. "I do not want him to grow up as I did. At his age I also slept in a place where I was too cold to become comfortable. I do not want it for John."

Mycroft rose to fetch a kettle in order to make tea. It was a simple enough process, crush herbs in bowls, boiling water, and throwing it all together. Sherlock turned his nose up at the offered beverage, but accepted it none the less. Both Jedi sat and sipped in silence, until Mycroft at last broke it.

"He is doing marvelously for a child, Sherlock. You should be proud," Mycroft said softly.

"He pushes himself too far. He forgets he is still younger than the average aged padawan," his brother growled. The dark haired knight lay his tea bowl down in disgust. "And your tea making is appalling."

Mycroft nearly smirked. His brother rose unsteadily, clearly ready for sleep. After a beat the ginger man spoke. "Anthea always pushed herself too hard. It is not only a youngling's flaw."

"I will tame it," Sherlock assured himself swiftly. "I will not allow harm to come to the boy simply because he is reckless."

"As I allowed Anthea," Mycroft said carefully.

"No," Sherlock said irritated. "Of course not. I only meant-"

"That you did not want him to suffer as Anthea did. It is alright, Sherlock. I am not made of glass, I know mistakes were made that day," Mycroft said, surprisingly gently.

"It is not my intent to throw it in your face," Sherlock grumbled.

Ah, yes. An almost apology for an earlier comment. The padawan had though himself discreet, but had danced around his master's ankles, demanding it be righted. The boy was a fascinating specimen, one moment admiring Mycroft, the next bristling in defense of his teacher. Sherlock, begrudgingly, was not an awful master.

Though his discipline could do with a bit of work.

"I know," Mycroft said quietly.

"What made you want a child? Willingly? I cannot imagine ever willing taking one of these," he waved his hand in John's direction dramatically, "by choice."

Mycroft could practically hear the boy's snort in his ears, though he slept on. Mycroft closed his eyes, longing for mediation or sleep. "You say you would never take one on willing? How ironic since you will not let him go willingly either."

"The boy is mine," Sherlock said in a low voice. "If it were any other child, any other brat-"

"We had thought of many other children for you. I had to constantly remind Master Yoda that I had claimed to that child, but the old troll always came back to pairing you.

"Old troll?" Sherlock questioned amused.

Mycroft smirked. "It is the fatigue speaking."

"Ah." Sherlock nearly smiled. "I should tend to the boy now, tomorrow is his big day."

Mycroft cringed as the hospitality built between them crashed downward. Of course Sherlock would only make a temporary truce with him, and of course it would only be from exhaustion. His brother strode back towards the child's bed of robes and wolf stomach. He pulled the padawan into his arms, rousing him in the process. John looked more than ready to burst into tears. A soft palm to the back of his head steadied him.

"You must take supper and urinate, John," Sherlock coaxed gently. "Come now, little one."

Little one. What an odd choice for a nickname. There was a time when he had often referred to Anthea as "small one", but after the age of fifteen she did not enjoy the affection any longer. He proceeded to call her "young one", far more formal and worthy of an upcoming knight. John seemed to adore being addressed as "little one".

"Not hungry," the boy grumbled, snuggling in closer to Sherlock.

"Too bad," the young man said sternly. John huffed as he was carried off to the designated restroom corner. Sherlock held the child closely through his meal until John was again asleep. His little eyes squeezed shut. Perhaps Sherlock had been right. This was far too difficult for a nine year old to handle.

It was something he should have noted, at the age of ten Sherlock had been even frailer than John. It was often difficult for Mycroft to comprehend that shivering child he had once known was now a strong knight raising his old child.

He never would have suspected Sherlock would come so far.

oOo

"Go, Sherlock."

The seventeen year old pushed at the ten year old boy roughly. Honestly, the boy had no sense of manners, holding up the food line in such a way. Several hungry padawans behind them snarled insults under their breath that were no doubt still audible. The dark haired child staggered backwards, out of line with his tray held close. "I-I-my master's not here," he said pleadingly. "I don't know how much I can have…"

With a second of hesitation, Sherlock ran away from the teasing padawans as quick as his legs would take him. Panic was written plainly on his face. Later he would admit to Mycroft he was frightened of taking too much food and being punished. The ginger teen watched the younger boy flea. He sighed.

It was the Jedi way to help the weak after all.

He loaded his plate up, enough for two, and went to find the miserable creature who had insulted his master in the midst of the Great Hall. Perhaps helping him was not the wisest duty to preform, but as it would be a waste to dump the boy's portion he continued to his search. No doubt the cooks would have his head for throwing out precious food.

The dark haired padawan sat at a lone table, his knees to his chest, comm link in hand. He was sniffling miserably into the speaker and pressing it longingly back to his ear as the recipient responded. "When is your meeting over though, Master?"

An unfortunate sleeve was turned into a tissue as Sherlock wiped at his nose. He nodded at whatever his caller had said.

"I'll wait for you back home, okay? It didn't work, the experiment was a flop, Master. I want to go home." Sherlock dabbed at his eyes. "I want my mum. No one here even likes me 'cept you."

The teen's heart nearly broke in half as he placed his loaded tray on the table gently. The noise caused the little boy to jump out of his skin, but Mycroft began splitting up the plates he had brought for his new companion. Sherlock had smelt Gorian, like Mycroft. The teen had brought him dessert and meats from their home planet. The boy wiped his nose again.

Revolting.

Mycroft passed him a napkin, trying not to look overly disgusted.

"I meant for you to go faster, not starve yourself," the teen said quietly. "Eat. You are too thin."

Slowly the child picked up a fork. His eyes gleamed with suspicion, but the fork was still brought to his mouth with a part of a sweet cake attached. The blue eyes lit up. "It's like back home!" Sherlock delved into it eagerly, almost forgetting to chew. Mycroft shuddered to think about the boy's manners and passed him over the sweet cake originally meant for the older boy. Sherlock spoke into his comm link. "Master, they've got sweet cakes here. Like Mum used to make me when I was good!"

"So not very often?" the boy's master quipped over his comm link.

Mycroft chuckled as Sherlock shot him a pouting glare. He played almost unhappily with his fork, as if contemplating something horrid. "If you're nice to me the other kids will hate you," he said at last.

"Jedi do not hate," Mycroft said unconcernedly. "And I care little for what other think of me."

"Oh," Sherlock said quietly at his food. The two boys ate in silence as other padawans and masters looked at them judgmentally. Mycroft sent one older girl away sobbing after she addressed Sherlock as "freak". He simply dabbed at his mouth with his napkin while pointing out how likely she was to fail her upcoming knight's test. He didn't understand why it came as a shock to the poor girl, it truly was obvious. Sherlock's eyes were shining.

"So…does this mean we're friends?"

Mycroft hesitated. Friends? With a Sith? Absolutely not.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped as if hearing the older boy's thoughts.

He was…perhaps….a bit cute. In a helpless akk puppy sort of way. If Mycroft took him as a friend he could train him, take him away from his Sith ways. Mycroft chewed at his lip.

"You will make your own friends here. You do not need me."

Sherlock nodded in misery. "Yeah, okay."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"I will help you train when you are at temple, but that's hardly friends," the older boy snapped. "Your master practically lives on Naboo. We shan't see much of each other, I doubt he will raise you here."

Sherlock perked. "But…when I am here…?"

"I will assist you," the teen promised easily.

Sherlock beamed at him.

How quickly his expression towards Mycroft would change.

oOo

_Tell me?_

_Little one._ Sherlock's voice was stern.

_But you guys were friends? You must have-_

Master stifled his thoughts by pulling him in close. John pouted as the stronger man held him firmly, despite his struggles. There had been a time where Mycroft and Sherlock had got on, he had seen it! Poodoo on Sherlock for not wanting to tell him what happened.

 _What did you do to make him angry, Master?_ John joked carefully.

His master's eyes narrowed _. I did nothing, young one. It was-_

_Mycroft?_

Sherlock hesitated, his Force presences tightened around the pair before at last he spoke.

Mycroft did something I can never forgive, little one. Not even as a Jedi.

_What?_

_Ask him later._


	12. Chapter 12

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the midst of a won battle.

Mycroft looked on the carnage with some pity in his heart, it was not a celebrated thing to destroy another's life force. Beside him Anthea looked positively thrilled, her long head tails blew gently in the breeze.

"You were correct, Master. I am getting stronger," she boasted.

"Stronger, yes. But you still lack patience, young one. And compassion, you have just ended several lives, Anthea, try not to seem gleeful," Mycroft scolded.

"Us or them," she shrugged off the rebuke.

It was a dangerous way to think for a future Jedi knight. It would not help guide her through her trials, no doubt it would lead to her failure. The young man frowned at his excited apprentice, ready to delve into a deep lesson, when the Force rippled in warning.

_Danger._

Mycroft swiftly caught his padawan around the waist and leapt back from an impending saber attack. She squirmed in his grasp angrily, freeing herself with a look of rage.

"I can do it myself, Mycroft! I could sense it too!" she shouted.

"Enough, padawan. You were not reacting to the warning, I gave you time-"

"I was going to counter him," she replied smugly. "You have taught me well, Master. I can handle a mere dark acolyte."

If he hadn't been so controlled he would have snorted. A Dark Acolyte was nothing to send a padawan after, even knights would struggle with them at times. The red eyed being gave them both a dark glance, his blood colored eyes sent tremors down Mycroft's spine. He pushed Anthea behind him lightly.

"Go to Dooku, young one. Or Sherlock, if you'd rather."

It was slightly annoying to know his padawan had misplaced affections for his own brother. She often tried to cozen him, little knowing the Sherlock had no desire for any woman or anyone at all. He needed her to be safe and for now Sherlock would have to suffer through her flirtations while he dealt with the Acolyte.

His padawan was unmoved. "Let me help you, Master," she said humbly. "Lestrade allowed Sherlock everywhere when he was my age, it is only fitting-"

"He was given freedom at seventeen and imprisoned by the Sith at eighteen, do not argue that fact with me, my apprentice," Mycroft said, activating his saber. "Go now."

Her lip trembled with emotion as she glared into Mycroft's eyes. "Not this time, Master."

She darted pass him before he could react.

"Anthea!" Mycroft cried and made to snatch her back. Shadows erupted from around him, seizing his wrists and ankles in a crushing grip. His body went cold as the darkness began incasing his body. He heard himself shouting for his brother before his master, but could only watch as Anthea battled with the Acolyte. Blackness rolled around their forms, almost lovingly licking at the Twi'lek girl's side. Sabers danced, sabers clashed, and sabers deflected.

And then a saber was protruding from her belly.

The Force cried out around him as his bond with the young girl died as she did. A piece of soul ignited in pain and brought a white light to his eyes. It was over in an instant, but felt like a life time. Sherlock was shaking him, freeing him from the shadows, and speaking to the Acolyte in a tongue Mycroft was too tired translate. The Acolyte sneered.

"Come now, Raven, don't be angry with me. She was never going to make it to knighthood anyway," the dark hair man said sweetly.

Sherlock was pulling Mycroft to his feet. "My master is shortly behind us, are you very sure you wish to stay here? He shan't be much longer," Sherlock sounded so confident in his former teacher, even the Acolyte looked unsure. His brother shifted so the elder could lean fully against him. "He nearly killed you last time," Sherlock's voice was just as sweet as the Dark One's had been.

"And you nearly killed him, Ravenous," the Acolyte snarled.

Sherlock flinched.

"Curly!" Sherlock's former master was roaring from behind, a short distance away.

The new knight smirked. "Run away, Moriarty. You cannot match him."

The Acolyte smiled almost gently. "Not today, my sweet one. But soon, very soon."

As the Acolyte began to vanish Mycroft noticed his vision began to blur.

It must have been raining.

oOo

Sherlock woke startled to his child lifting his arm and cuddling beneath him.

John pressed into his tear stained face into Sherlock's neck and whimpered aggressively. The knight shook the sleep from his body and pulled his boy closer. John had been spending his nights with Mycroft mostly, both wolves preferred Sherlock's company and could only be beckoned near Mycroft with John present. Without their warmth the eldest Jedi would freeze at night. Sherlock motioned Redbeard to stay at his post near an unstirred Mycroft. Blond hair tickled under his nose as John nuzzled into him. The knight snorted indignantly.

"Little one. Little-John! Be still. By the Force, child, you are kicking me in the stomach," Sherlock grumbled heatedly. "Did you have another night terror?"

"Master Mycroft watched his padawan die. He couldn't get to her in time…"

The story of Anthea's death had been kept from John. There had been no reason at the time to share the information, and the child had not sought it. Why it had chosen to plague John now, he would never know. A delicate scratch behind the ear soothed John into soft, unsteady intakes of breath.

"Breath, padawan. Steady yourself," Sherlock instructed gently.

"She-she tried to take on a Dark Acolyte by herself, she wouldn't wait for Master Mycroft. He kept shouting for her to be patient and wait," John babbled.

"Yes. When little ones refuse to listen to their masters there is seldom a good outcome. Mycroft's padawan rarely followed orders from what I heard. More than likely it was due to their closeness of age."

John tugged at Sherlock's ear sharply. "You're trying to turn this into a lesson, Master. I know to obey your instruction."

Sherlock kissed the small boy's temple. "And yet I often find myself pulling you from danger in the nick of time."

His padawan frowned and leaned closer. "Will Mycroft be alright?"

Sherlock settled them both into a more comfortable position, in which he lay curled protectively around his padawan's smaller form. "He has tried to steal you multiple times, no doubt he is feeling just fine."

John traced the longest scar on his master's chest from his heart to his right hip. His master pulled blankets over them into an odd shaped nest. Warmth spread all around them, John had never been so comfortable in his life. "Mycroft cried in the dream. Proper tears and everything."

"Despite common belief, little one, I don't believe Mycroft to be completely heartless," Sherlock said against John's forehead.

"Would you cry? If I died," John asked shyly.

"Stupid question."

John snorted. "So like a baby?"

Sherlock chuckled. "As I recall it was you who were in absolute tears when I was near death." Sherlock raised his pitch in mockery of his padawan's pain, "Master, please don't die. Please, I n-n-nee-d-d you."

John punched him the stomach. "Shut up. I thought you were dead meat, Master."

Sherlock grunted. "Your concern is touching, padawan mine. I shall relish it."

John giggled, content with his situation and began drifting towards sleep. The young eyes grew heavier as Sherlock continued to run his fingers through the soft hair. Mycroft would not be pleased when he woke to find the pair together. John cuddled closer as if sensing his master's worry. "Will Mycroft be okay if I sleep with you tonight? Just cause if you think he'll be cold I'll go back."

After a brief moment of thought, the knight answered.

"Stay."

oOo

Mycroft was kicking him roughly in the shin.

The young knight hissed with frustration as he was roused from a sound sleep. The fire before him crackled noisily, sparks threatened him as they sprang forth aggressively. The knight withdrew his boots swiftly from the flames, luckily John was protected carefully against his chest.

"What?" the younger man snapped heatedly.

Mycroft pointed accusingly toward the fire with upraised eyebrows. Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, against his chest John shifted closer.

"What is the problem with fire, Mycroft? Does it frighten you?" he seethed. "You are like a monster in one of John's stories. Go back to sleep."

"There is no dry flint, Sherlock. And strong as it is, the Force cannot produce matches from thin air."

Sherlock pulled the heap of blankets over his head in rebellion. Stars, he had never been so exhausted in his life time. Mycroft jabbed one of his dagger like fingers into his little brother's kidneys, Sherlock groaned.

"Must you? Let me sleep, Mycroft."

"I know what you did," the older man accused.

"And yet you proceed with this interrogation," Sherlock remarked swiftly. "I had little choice, the weather turned so frozen last night even the wolves struggled with it."

Mycroft yanked the blankets from the curly head and pointed an aggressive finger under the younger's nose. "Sith lightning, in front of John-"

"The boy was sleeping-"

"Sith arts, here Sherlock?"

The knight was reaching the end of his limit. Lightning was not something he had ever been gifted at, it wasn't a trait he longed for, and it sapped him of his energy. He leaned heavily against Redbeard's velvety stomach, pleading with the living Force to expel his brother from his presence to no avail. Mycroft demanded an explanation. At last the Jedi snapped.

"You and John were turning blue in your beds, Mycroft! What else was I to do?"

John shifted at the disturbance, searching mindlessly for Sherlock in his sleep. His master carefully placed him on the red wolf's back and weakly rose to face his brother's judgment. His knees nearly buckled as he stood, Mycroft sensed it.

"It is not a technic a child could learn," the master said quietly.

"I did not learn it as a child," Sherlock replied faintly. Mycroft barely had time to catch the younger man as he fell forward. Repulsed that he had needed Mycroft's assistance Sherlock made to push away, but it was a weakened attempt. All of his body weight was against his older brother's torso. He heard a far off grunt.

"Sherlock? Perfect, Sherlock. We're already late and you choose now to-"

It was the last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

oOo

"But he's okay?"

"Your master is fine, padawan," Mycroft assured the youth for the millionth time. John looked on his sleeping master dubiously, his face seemed slightly panicked.

"So he's not gonna die or anything, right?"

Morbid child.

"He is fine, young one," Mycroft said firmly, letting his irritation seep into his voice. The child shrank away from him slowly, his small hand unconsciously tugged at his sleeves. The boy glanced up at slowly at the tall master with a small huff of defiance and looked on Sherlock longingly.

"Are you okay, Master Mycroft?" the boy said slightly childishly. He took a step closer to the tall master, his movements unsure. Mycroft arched a questioning eyebrow. John's face contorted in concentration. "I-I had a nightmare last night…and…and…" Whatever the child was struggling with became too great. He lunged forward unexpectedly and hugged the Jedi master around the waist.

"I'm sorry about your padawan, it must have been awful, I hope you're okay, it wasn't your fault, you're a good teacher, I'm sorry, really, really sorry, please don't tell Sherlock I gave you a hug or he'll tease me, but if ya want to talk to someone I'm a good listener," the boy finished his rushed babbling and broke the embrace. His round cheeks were flushed red as he turned and fled to where Sherlock was laying. The boy hid himself shyly under his master arm. Sherlock stirred.

"Little one?"

"You didn't die!" the boy cried happily. Only now did Mycroft catch the sarcasm and jest of the child's words.

His brother smiled as he rose. "Brat."

"We have a twelve hour ride today, I want a story about Grandpa this time," the boy demanded fiercely.

"Do my stories of ancient Jedi and Sith bore you, small one?" Sherlock said tenderly, his free hand carded through the boy's soft hair.

"Was Grandpa more strong-"

"Stronger," his master corrected sternly.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah that, than Moriarty? Was he really? What happened when you were eighteen? Did Grandpa-"

"John," Sherlock said firmly. "Be still."

The boy huffed an annoyed, "Yes, Master."

"Fetch your things, we are already hours behind."

"Yes, Master."

Sherlock rose on unsteady knees and looked on his older brother with suspicion. "Should I expect a lecture on my irresponsibility on the rest of the journey?"

"I think you have been punished enough," Mycroft mumbled, motioning to Sherlock's weakened state. "Excuse me."

He left his brother shocked and went to find the boy. A blond head was bobbing up and down in the back of the cave as John collected his teddy bear, privately stashed safely in the back of the cave. He managed to have it packed before Mycroft found him. The tall master knelt in front of him slowly.

"You truly do not feel anger towards me? Towards the grief I cause your master? I tried to have the two of you separated, young one," Mycroft let the honesty flow from him, expecting, perhaps hoping to see anger in the young boy's eyes. None came. Only sympathy.

"Healed wounds," John said with a shrug. "I mean I was kind of bantha mad at first, but Master says the past is over, it isn't healthy to try and bring it into the present. I'm trying to be a good man, like my master and his master before him. Master says I'm a good boy so..." John froze for a moment. "Er…don't tell him I told you though, okay?'

Mycroft surprised himself by reaching forward slowly, his arm circled the boy's slender shoulders and tugged him in softly. John came to him easily, arms thrown over his neck. In his lifetime, Mycroft had never once experienced the warmth of an embrace. Not even as a child. The padawan felt warm in the face of the cold. John patted his back softly and muttered repeatedly, "it's okay, Master."

For the life of him, Mycroft could not understand why the boy was comforting him.

But it must have been raining again.


	13. Chapter 13

"But Master, Master Mycroft says-"

"Sit," Sherlock said firmly, quite sick of what Master Mycroft had to say. He lowered the little boy into the treasured hot spring and listened as John cooed as his body touched the steaming liquid. Regretfully John had been the one to first sense the spring, neither master had been paying much heed to anything but focusing their warmth. They had given up their mounts in favor of being more discreet, as Mycroft had pointed out red furred wrywolves would cause an uproar. Especially a familiar wolf.

Sherlock made sure John was comfortable in his place before moving towards Mycroft to change. They needed to bathe. It wasn't so much they cared how they looked themselves. It was more that they had to look at each other, and smell each other.

The older Jedi was stripping away his own tunics and his boots. Sherlock strode to his brother begrudgingly and began taking off his own tunics. With a small sigh he removed his boots. "Stop enticing my padawan, Mycroft. I do not want your teachings whispered in my ear every time I try to give my own."

Mycroft smirked slightly. "You did not mind my teachings when you were younger."

Sherlock took a menacing step towards his brother with a small scowl. "I do not want the boy to experience it when you decide he is no longer worthy of your teachings."

Mycroft took his brother's arm lightly, similar icy blue eyes caught each other's gaze. They held for a beat. The elder released the younger shortly, whatever he had to say died on his lips. "Apologies," he said quietly.

Sherlock ruffled his dark curls with a small frown and turned away. He strode over to where his child was splashing about in the water like a babe. John was giggling and looking far more like himself than he had in days, it was definite that he drew strength from the water. The padawan reached for his master as the knight sank into the steaming pond, Sherlock swam towards the boy at once.

"It's nice, Master," the boy sighed as Sherlock placed him on his hip. John dipped his head under Sherlock's chin, electing to begin his childish cooing again. The knight smiled and dropped his lips to the cub's temple. "Yuck," his bratling giggled fiercely.

Sherlock snorted and dropped his padawan in the middle of the pool, John's head dipped beneath the surface.

"I suppose a lecture on attachment will not have much effect," Mycroft sighed as he dipped into the water.

"He is my padawan, Mycroft. Should I not care for him? You, yourself told me when I first took the boy-"

"Ah, but I did not say grow heavily attached to him. I did not instruct for you to baby him, pamper him. He will make a fine Jedi, Sherlock, if you raise him properly," Mycroft instructed calmly.

"You would have me raise him in the way Dooku raised you, then?" Sherlock snapped.

"Master," John appeared at Sherlock's side pouting, "I dropped my pocket saber, and I can't find it."

Surprisingly it was Mycroft who dove beneath the water and swam downward. John gaped at rippling surface and turned to Sherlock. "Master Mycroft can swim? I mean swim well, like really well?"

Sherlock nodded and sat on a grove in the water's edge. John swam to him swiftly. "Mycroft is the one who taught me," he said quietly.

"Really? That's wizard, Master. But…how come you didn't know how to swim? Weren't you like ten?" John babbled. Sherlock pulled the boy into his lap and sniffed at his neck.

"It was very much forbidden for me to learn to swim before I became a Jedi, little one. And I had no desire to learn, but Mycroft decided it was something a padawan needed to know."

"And back then you liked him so you said yes," John said hurriedly.

In truth, he had idolized Mycroft then, but it was hardly something John needed to hear.

"It was a long time ago," Sherlock said softly.

oOo

" _I'm too scared, Mycroft."_

_The boy was dressed in a tight wet suit that clung to his skin too much and made him itch. He refused to simply wear trunks as Mycroft was, he couldn't let his new friend see his brand or his back. The ten year old glared down at his feet determined not to let Mycroft see him cry pathetically. The older teen was treading water in the middle of the Temple's pool._

" _Don't be childish, Sherlock, I am right here."_

" _I'm not supposed to! If-if…it wasn't allowed!" Sherlock said desperately. Moriarty had forbidden it. Swimming was a tool used for escape, the penalty for the ability used by a slave was death. The penalty for one who taught the technic was enslavement. What if Mycroft got caught?_

" _You have to learn, young one," Mycroft said calmly. "Just jump to me, Sherlock, I'll catch you."_

_Sherlock inched closer to the pool, his hands trembled in fear. His toes hung over the edge, the water lapped at his skin hungrily. He stepped back shaking his head. "I can't!"_

" _Small one," Mycroft coaxed gently, "I am right here."_

_After a deep breath and a dubious glare, the padawan leapt._

oOo

"I like Mycroft," the boy said forcefully.

"I know," Sherlock said, hiding his jealousy. John leaned backwards into his master's chest.

"What did he do? Please Master, I'd like to know."

"John," Sherlock said shortly.

It was not his place to say.

" _Help!"_

" _Sherlock! Sherlock! Be calm! I have you!" Mycroft soothed, as he held the small padawan close to him. Sherlock struggled furiously in the older boy's arms. Water splashed everywhere, only adding to the boy's terror. There was no containing this monstrous element._

" _I want to get out! Please, I hate this!" Sherlock squirmed. Mycroft's grip was relentless._

" _Shush, use your senses. Relax," Mycroft said softly. "That is the best thing you can do right now is relax."_

_Sherlock hid his face in Mycroft's shoulder, his wet suit was only adding to his discomfort, but he couldn't take it off. Sherlock was crying miserably._

" _I want my master," he sniveled._

" _I will hold you until you're ready to swim on your own," Mycroft promised._

_Sherlock only sniffled loudly._

oOo

Mycroft resurfaced with the pocket saber in his hand.

John thanked him happily and dropped it into his boot near the edge of the water. The master grinned down at the padawan and favored him with a small squeeze of the shoulder. John beamed. "How'd you get all the way to the bottom?"

"Would you like to see a trick, small one?" Mycroft said mischievously.

John's eyes twinkled. "Can I, Master?"

"Yes, _little_ one," Sherlock said shortly. "Stay close to Mycroft."

John swam into Mycroft's arms and clung tightly to the Jedi's neck. Mycroft looked surprised for a moment, his eyes wandered to look at Sherlock. With a small pout the knight waved them away in a bored fashion. So what if John wanted to learn a trick from Mycroft over his own master. Swimming was a dull talent to have anyway, let Mycroft teach the child if he so desired.

His padawan and his brother dove beneath the surface.

oOo

_They had been treading water for an hour._

" _You haven't drowned yet, small one," Mycroft said gently._

" _If you let go I would," Sherlock said, shrinking against the teen's chest. The boy was trembling like a leaf in the wind, Mycroft actually gathered him closely and pulled both of them out of the pool._

" _That is enough for one day, I think."_

" _Yes, Mycroft."_

_Mycroft stood with Sherlock sitting on his hip for longer than necessary, the younger boy clung to him tightly. "We will try again tomorrow, yeah?"_

" _Yes, Mycroft."_

oOo

Sherlock lounged with unease in the hot springs, the Force was singing in warning. Sherlock touched John's half of the bond lightly, and the boy's joyous response was immediate. Perhaps the Force was warning him that Mycroft was finally succeeding in stealing his padawan. John seemed to relish in Mycroft's attention and desire his lessons. Sherlock scrubbed a hand over his face angrily.

He wanted John to have a relationship with Mycroft, despite common belief. In a hypothetical realm Mycroft was an uncle to him, just as Lestrade was the boy's grandfather. John needed a family, not just a master.

Unfortunately that included his brother.

oOo

" _He fell asleep."_

_Mycroft carefully deposited the sleeping padawan into the silver haired knight's arms. "The water drained him completely."_

_Lestrade smiled at Mycroft gratefully, his hand rested on Sherlock's dark head. The boy turned slightly in his mentor's grasp and sighed. "Thank you, Mycroft."_

" _I will see you tomorrow, Sherlock," he promised._

" _M'kay," Sherlock whisper and fell asleep once more._

" _Thank you, padawan," Lestrade said sincerely. "He talks of you often."_

_Mycroft blushed._

" _Thank you, Master."_

oOo

Another warning in the Force rippled angrily as the knight did not heed it.

He wrung his hands in his lap, the amount of time his companions were beneath the water was concerning. Sherlock reached out gently to John's mind and coaxed him back to the surface. John's blond head popped up next to Sherlock's elbow in a matter of seconds. His cub's face was a mask of concern.

"You okay, Master?" the boy tucked his head under Sherlock's chin. "You feel mad."

The knight pulled his child close.

John would always come to him first. Always look to him first. Sherlock lay his cheek on the boy's soft head. "Where is Mycroft?"

"He's coming up, but you're okay, right?" John touched the knight's ear softly. "You don't feel okay."

Sherlock shifted until the child was standing on his legs looking down at his mentor. Sherlock frowned. "You are getting heavy."

"Growing," the boy said proudly.

"Stop," Sherlock demanded.

"Master," John giggled, "I'm going to be taller than you one day."

Sherlock had visions of the future before, all focused on his padawan. The boy would never grow much pass his shoulder if all remained as seen. The knight humored his child with a small nod. "Perhaps."

John beamed.

"More than likely not," Sherlock corrected swiftly.

Mycroft surface and sucked in a great gulp of air. His red hair plastered itself to his face, but he smiled despite his ridiculous looks. "Far more advanced than many children your age," he said with pride.

"Thank you, Master," John said eagerly.

"Little one," Sherlock said irritably.

John turned once more to Sherlock with concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock growled.

"Master, what's-"

Mycroft reacted first.

He leapt out of the steaming water and called his saber to his hand, Sherlock was just behind him. Two blue sabers ignited and lit the small pool area. John crawled out next to Sherlock and called his own saber to his small palm. The knight pushed him lightly behind his the legs. Women clad in dark brown snow suits stared at them from under dark masks. Several spears were aimed at their throats and one was even aimed at John.

The little boy snarled as his master had.

"Males are not permitted among this sacred ground," a warrior growled from under her masks. "At least no free male, unless you have come to pledge yourself to the high priestess, I suggest you throw down your sabers."

"Get back in the water, little one," Sherlock snarled, "it is too cold for you above the water."

Indeed the boy was trembling against the cold. He shook his head fiercely, his eyes were narrowed. "I'm not-"

Sherlock shoved the boy backwards into the water. John's saber flew into his hand before the padawan's backside even touched the water. Sherlock took the double Soresu stance, covering the spring with both sabers. John resurfaced with tears in his eyes and his cheeks flushed.

"Son of a sith, Master."

"John," Sherlock turned his head slightly towards his child, "you are only nine."

The boy bowed his head. "Master Mycroft says I'm advanced for my age…"

"John-"

"Silence!" the women shouted in unison. "This is your final warning, you yield to us or die."

Mycroft looked to Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, the knight swallowed the lump growing his throat. They could not attack the guardians of the High Temple, not when they had negotiations to make. Lestrade always taught him it was impossible to win hearts and minds when you sliced off arms and heads. The Jedi lowered the weapons.

"We did not mean to trespass, my ladies," Mycroft said carefully. "We were on our way to seek council with your High Priestess."

"You will be silent. Drop your weapons, last warning."

They threw their sabers at the feet of the women.

"Hands behind your backs," they were commanded.

"Let me take care of the cub first," Sherlock said crossly. John pulled himself out of the pool shivering and crying. Sherlock frowned.

Perhaps he had pushed too hard.

"The cub is male," one of them hissed.

"Yes, and he is near freezing," Sherlock argued heatedly.

"Tend to him," the leader said quietly.

Sherlock lifted the boy on to his hip and was greatly surprised when John shrank away from him. The knight touched the child's face, John sniffled. "Didn't have to push…"

"Padawan," Sherlock said shortly.

"Rancor dung, Master."

Sherlock brought the child to their bags and dried him gently. A towel was thrown over the young boy's head as the knight dried his hair. John smiled slightly as the towel was removed. It was a piece of routine they had been missing for days, Sherlock took the time to ruffle the child's hair softly under the towel.

"You're lucky I'm so nice, Master, or I'd be very cross with you right now," John scolded.

Sherlock smirked as he redressed the padawan in his snow suits and covered the still slightly wet hair in a hat. John was still trembling despite his dressing, he leaned heavily against Sherlock once more. "How do you stay so warm?" the boy's teeth chattered as he spoke. "I'm so cold."

Sherlock frowned as Mycroft appeared at his side. "How is he?"

"Cold, but he'll live," Sherlock said sorely. He lifted the boy onto his hip and reached out for his cloak. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Dress yourself, I'll take him for the moment," Mycroft ordered stiffly.

Unwillingly Sherlock passed the boy over to his brother, thankfully his cub did not lean into him as much as he had Sherlock. And he kept his eyes on the knight at all times. Sherlock finished swiftly and retook his padawan carefully.

"I have negotiated to not be taken in chains," Mycroft said as he dressed.

"Joy," Sherlock snapped. "What are they asking for in return?"

Mycroft visibly hesitated with a small flinch.

"Nothing."

oOo

_He looked down at the little padawan in his arms._

_Maybe he was a bit cute. But just a bit. And only because he had fallen asleep on the teen's shoulder and his mouth was hanging open slightly in a childish fashion. Did all Sith fall asleep in such a way? They were said to be dangerous creatures, not innocent children. Sherlock had such a peaceful face when he slept, not that of a fierce killer._

" _You're so small, Sherlock," Mycroft whispered against Sherlock's head of curls. "You're far thinner than you should be, maybe I should make you eat more?"_

_Sherlock snored softly._

" _You shouldn't go on the roof as often as you do. Honestly Sherlock, what if you fall off? You're small enough to get blown away with the right breeze."_

_Sherlock's left arm tightened around the older boy's neck as his right arm dangled lifelessly. Mycroft smiled._

" _You need some to protect you. I can do that, I think. Teach you how to be a perfect Jedi, it'll be easy."_

_Sherlock was nuzzling at Mycroft's neck in his sleep, seeking the comfort of their home planet._

" _I'll protect you, Sherlock."_

_Always._


	14. Chapter 14

The dark haired male was eyeing them with obvious boredom.

The only time a reaction was forced from the young male was when they came near his cub. It was odd. Usually the females were the protective guardians of their children, males often did not care about their offspring until they were grown. This male had carried his cub a great distance without once berating him for his weakness and genuinely seemed concern when the little Jedi began to sniffle in cold.

The male held his cub in the crook of his arm and cupped the back of his head gently. He let none of the women near him, taking a step back every time one of them attempted to touch his child. The male growled audibly when one of her guards leveled a knife in his direction. His alpha stepped in front of the pair of them defensively, his hand straying by habit to where his weapon used to sit. Mycroft Holmes did not snarl as the other man did, but eyed them threateningly. The two younger companions were clearly his pack members.

Older the alpha may have been, but he lacked the attraction the younger man had. It was true his parents held high positions in both sides of the twin councils and that in itself was desirable. If he were to breed, even as bastard, his child would be an heir to a great power. The thought was important enough for her to ignore the dark haired male.

If only he were a Holmes.

Of all the powerful children Jovian Holmes and Laila Trivilian could have had, they had only birthed two. Two sons both lost due to their father’s incompetence. Her aunt had found her eldest at the Jedi temple, too far wrapped in their arts to desire to come home. Her youngest had been sold away and was not his own man. He would contact his mother whenever allowed, but was otherwise unavailable and highly unworthy of birthing heirs.

She turned her attention fully to the ginger alpha instead of his younger companion. Laila’s son the alpha may have been, but her promise to never speak to a free male again would prevent him from talking to her son directly. At first their plan had been to turn away the adults and simply take the cub from them. Only the promise of retribution kept them from stealing away the child. Mycroft Holmes would pay for his pack members’ safety.

The dark haired male passed a soft hand over the cub’s ear as if sensing her thoughts. Those pale blue-green eyes narrowed suspiciously at her over his child’s shoulder. While it was not allowed for any adult males to speak with her aunt, the idea of using the child as an ambassador was clever. Her aunt would find it amusing. But whether or not she would hear the Jedi out would remain to be seen. They would have to wait until her aunt rose in the morning.

The dark haired man growled as she approached his cub.

“Careful, Master Jedi. You will ruin all your alpha’s hard work,” she spoke slyly in their native tongue.

“Force forbid,” the young man snapped sarcastically.

“Sigerson,” his alpha ruled quietly, “let them view the boy.”

The dark haired man’s fingers tightened fractionally, he hesitated and without taking his eyes from Gracia’s face he spoke softly in basic to the cub. The little Jedi turned. His small round face graced him with the look of pure innocence, his little blue eyes were brave, and he seemed more shy than afraid. He smiled politely, revealing a lost tooth and an impish grin. His sky blue eyes did not mirror the anger of his father’s, instead they seemed soft and excited.

She smiled back by habit.

“John,” the cub’s father said softly. The sky blue eyes turned up to his face adoringly, obediently he lay his head back on the older man’s should.

“The High Lady will send one of her maidens to speak with you in the morning. We will find a space to lodge you for the evening.”

“My thanks,” Mycroft Holmes said graciously. His companion remained stoic and tense.

She half hoped he’d offend her aunt and be forced into punishment.

And with his temperament it seemed likely.

 

oOo

 

“Why is it your padawan seems to have far better manners than you?”

“Because he does not know what white tunics symbolize,” Sherlock snapped protectively.

John didn’t see what the big deal was honestly. Mycroft had been given silky purple robes shortly after their arrival, where Master had gotten dark blue robes and had seemed sincerely displeased about it. He had gotten even more miffed when John had been handed white tunics. The maiden had left in tears after Sherlock had muttered something to her.

“You could explain it to him. I am sure he is curious as to why his master behaved so impetuously,” Mycroft seethed.

Sherlock lifted John onto the bed with a small throw. The padawan reached out to his master with a small pout, wanting to feel his warmth in the blasted cold space. Sherlock exhaled heavily, but came to him swiftly and trapped the boy beneath his chest playfully. John squawked and wiggled beneath the suffocating weight. Sherlock continued to smother him.

“You are being childish,” Mycroft snapped.

“I do not care,” Sherlock said with annoyance. “They are treating you as a prince and John as an alter slave. They gave you white tunics to note that you serve Mycroft, little one.”

“Master, it’s alright,” John soothed. “I don’t mind.”

“You would not mind if they cut off your fingers, John,” Sherlock said softly.

John cuddled in close to his master, clutching his master’s blue robes tightly. They were smoother than he had thought, and he dragged it through his fingers slowly, it felt like the dresses his mother used to wear. Master tugged them over his head in an angry pull, they fluttered to the floor. A muttering about the uselessness of “status: was hissed out between gritted teeth.

“And Mycroft has wasted no time making himself the alpha,” Sherlock said defensively.

“These robes were given to me, Sherlock. I did not choose them.”

“You didn’t deny them,” the knight said snidely.

Mycroft rose elegantly, his purple robes settled with gracefully around his shoulders. Mycroft looked like a king. It was clear that purple was meant as a regal color, and the master fit it perfectly. “Do you think you are more deserving?”

Sherlock rose from his padawan with a different kind of grace, a younger, more exuberant grace. He no longer had robes to fall along his shoulders, but the way he stood conveyed power. His back was ram rod straight, his shoulders were drawn back the way John had seen some politics stand at Senate meetings. His master’s snarl would have sent John crying into the other room. Mycroft may have been a king, but Sherlock sure looked like a prince. And in all his stories books princes were usually better.

“Do not challenge me here,” Mycroft glowered.

“Or what?”

John pulled on his master’s arm with surprising strength. The knight turned to glare at him with immediate rage, John didn’t cower. “No fighting,” the boy demanded. “You promised, Master.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “To you, yes.”

“Please, Master. For me?” John pouted.

Sherlock’s posture slackened slightly. John cocked his head to the side in wonder. If Master was a prince, what did that make John? The padawan touched his mentor’s fingers lightly with his own, gazing far away. He could be a prince too, maybe. But he couldn’t hold a flame to Sherlock, and he definitely did not have the power to be a king like Mycroft. John dragged his fingers around Sherlock’s knuckles. Whatever he was, he was Sherlock’s, so that was okay.

His master was watching him think closely, his hostile look gone. Where his aura normally radiated rebellion and defiance, he now seemed amused and less aggressive. He even smiled a bit. At John anyway, Mycroft was completely ignored. “Go prepare yourself for bed, John,” he was ordered.

“Can’t I stay up?” John begged.

“Little-”

“You must tell me a story if I am to go to bed now!” John commanded fiercely. The boy clambered forward and touched the longest scar going down his chest. “I want to know how you got this one.”

The knight sighed, “You are too young for this story, little one.”

“But I-”

“Please, John. This scar is not my fondest memory.”

“How about one about your mum?” John begged swiftly. “Or a Grandpa story?”

Sherlock scowled at him. “I haven’t seen my mother in ages, John. There are hardly any stories left I can remember. I will consider showing you something of my master if you prepare for bed now.”

“Fine,” the bratling huffed.

 

oOo

 

She strode into their room silently.

As instructed the Jedi males had been slipped sedatives in their drinks, undetectable by the power known as the Force. At least that was what Moriarty had assured her. She set her eyes on the ginger male that lay stretched out peacefully on the floor. Around him a thick blanket was used for coverings and a pillow, while bunched up sheets were his mattress. They had not gifted the bastard adult with a duvet.

It must have been from his companions’ bed.

She stared for a long time at her first born, the child that never reached for her. Even as a baby his smiles had been reserved for his father, never his own mother. It had been unusual, Jovian had adored the strong son, it was even by his hands the tiny boy had learned to walk at. She thought she had been blessed with a tender mate who would adore their children and guide them into adulthood.

Until Jovian had let the boy out of his sights.

Found by scouting Jedi, recognized as Force sensitive, and taken far away from his home planet, his parents were left to panic over a son who would never come back. Jovian drastically changed after Sherlock was named. They had discovered his whereabouts only after losing another precious son. A son who had adored his mother’s affections.  

With a heavy exhale she turned to pair of Jedi sprawled in elegantly in the king sized bed.

She mustn’t blame Mycroft for the loss of Sherlock.

It was not fitting of a High Lady to cast blame on an innocent.

Turning her full attention to the little Jedi, the boy who was to be used as a diplomat, she found herself smiling. He was a mess of tiny limbs and mussed blond hair. His arm lay over the face of his father and his leg rested on the longer man’s scarred abdomen. In his tiny arms was a teddy bear being strangled in his grasp. The only negative trait of the cub was his frown, a nightmare seemed to be plaguing the child.

“Leave him alone,” the boy pleaded in his sleep. “Just, please, leave him alone.”

Deterred by the drugs the father rolled closer to his cub without so much as opening his eyes, groggily reaching for his whimpering child blindly. She marveled at his ability to even function with such powerful sedatives in his system. His head dipped near the boy’s neck as he pulled him into strong arms and held him gently. Out of instincts his fingers curled tenderly in the fair hair as he cradled the boy. “Little one,” a baritone voice said sleepily. The whimpering ceased.

And she was left to openly gape at the torn back before her.

Flesh had clearly been ripped apart and sloppily sown back together. Scars from lashings decorated his back in near patterns, spotted with old burn marks and former welts. The knight’s stomach had been littered with tiny scars and one long one, clearly meant to kill, running from his heart to his hip. The cub now cover it with his small frame.

The poor man had clearly endured much over his lifetime.

With a delicate touch she traced over one of the scars on his back, the came from everywhere, some even overlapped. The young man grunted softly and shifted away. She wondered if the scars still pained him.

“Dad,” the cub sniveled pathetically.

The male at last revealed his face as turned it closer to his cub’s and flipped the child onto his chest with ease. Long fingers splayed over the young back protectively, ruffling the blue robes that were currently being used as extra blankets. A spark of anger burned through her as she realized what their gift was being used for.

And then she the young man’s face.

Jovian’s face was sleeping peacefully against the pillows, far more at ease than she had ever seen her former mate. But this man was clearly not her former partner, he was years too young. Still it was evident that Jovian had fathered another bastard on a different woman, whether it was before or after Sherlock she could not tell. She could have laughed in the man’s face for losing three sons. One he had sired on another woman no less.

Served him right.

“I’m here, John,” he muttered softly, his words slightly slurred.

Jealously she realized Jovian had been blessed with a grandson. A beautiful little blond cub, who thankfully looked nothing like his grandsire. With a lingering gaze she began to exit the room in furry.

Moriarty had raised her youngest son to adulthood, she saw no reason why he could not do the same for Jovian’s grandchild.


	15. Chapter 15

“There is hate in your eyes, Sherlock.”

Surprised, the young Jedi turned to his master with a scowl. He traced the outside of his master’s boots with own smaller ones, his cloak fluttered aimlessly in the wind. He remained silent, his jaw clenched in you rebellion. Lestrade frowned slightly before electing to card his hand through Sherlock’s dark curls, his padawan pushed him away.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade said firmly, “I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Again stoic silence. The knight found himself sighing very, very heavily and turned towards the Temple’s gardens. Let the fledgling stew in his anger, eventually he would say what was on his mind. His ten year old was pouting.

“Master,” the boy said loudly.

Lestrade said nothing. This was the way best suited to punish Sherlock, take away his attention and eventually he would become compliant. The knight knelt over a fruit bearing plant and examined it with much more thought than needed. Behind him Sherlock could be hard muttering. It too was promptly ignored.

“Stupid,” his padawan muttered louder.

Lestrade pulled free one of the dark blue tangelos and took a refreshing bite. Qui Gon would have his head for eating one his precious fruitlets, but it served him right after divulging to Sherlock his many mishaps as a padawan. Including his lack of obedience.

“I hate him,” the boy said loudly and darkly.

Lestrade turned on his knees and tugged to boy closer. It was not a warm embrace he pulled the boy into, but rather a restraining grip, arm’s length away and firm. Sherlock’s eyes looked panicked as he instinctually braced for whatever punishment his Sith master would have forced him into. Lestrade thumbed lightly over Sherlock’s cheek before gently, very gently, chiding him. “Young one, you must release your hatred of Moriarty. We have discussed his at length before, Curly.”

“I was talking about my father,” Sherlock seethed quietly.

Lestrade sat back on his heels shocked. “What brought this up?”

Sherlock ducked his head closer to Lestrade’s palm and bit his lip tightly. Finally, after gentle coaxing over their bond, Sherlock spoke. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Lestrade felt his stomach turn over as he continued to scratch behind the boy’s ear. “Who told you to keep something from me?” he asked calmly.

“Master Yoda and his former padawan. I don’t remember his name,” Sherlock said slowly.

“Master Windu,” Lestrade encouraged lightly.

“Yeah, them. My father contacted the Order for…” he turned his watery eyes up to his master’s. “You won’t give me back? Right, Master? My father wants to give me back to Moriarty, he says I was idiotic to run away.”

The boy’s babblings were almost too fast to follow, and Lestrade had to calm his padawan swiftly. “You spoke to your father without me?” he asked quietly.

“Master Windu said I had to,” the boy looked down. “He said I had to tell him I wanted to stay with you, without your presence so my father would know I was not influenced. He said I had to stand up to my past so I could face the future.”

“And what did you say to your father?” Lestrade asked with hidden rage. Sherlock should not have been made to face anyone without his master’s presence, at least at his age.

“I told him he wasn’t my father anymore, and that you were, and I want to stay with you,” Sherlock said swiftly, proudly. His eyes gazed into Lestrade’s as if seeking permission to continue. “He said you would learn to hate me too, though. As he had.”

Ah. There was the cause of his padawan’s rage that morning.

“I do not hate you, Sherlock,” Lestrade said softly. “Though you disappoint me when you do not come forward and simply tell me what is wrong. You are mine, and I care for you very much. Nothing will change that.”

“But what if I-”

“Not even then,” the master chuckled.

Sherlock remained silent for a time, before stepping in close to his master’s arms. He turned his face into his master’s neck. “How come he hates me though? How come my own papa…he didn’t even care when I got sold.” Snot and tears coursed down the master’s neck, Lestrade cupped the dark head tenderly. “He laughed. He came to see Moriarty a few years after and laughed when I got punished.” Sherlock drew a shaky breath. “I thought he came to take me home, but he just laughed and pushed me down. Well not really, I was hanging by my neck, see, and he shoved-”

Lestrade felt hot tears course down his own cheeks as he tightened his arms around the boy, hugging him, assuring him that he was loved. Sherlock sobbed into his neck noisily. Lestrade prayed he was heard. “Sherlock, little one, I love you. I am your father. I am here, I am always here. Shhh, shh, sh, I love you.”

“Master,” Sherlock said brokenly.

“It will not happen again,” Lestrade said with quiet rage.

 

oOo

 

“Master?”

John was shaking him awake in the middle of a strong sleep, Sherlock nuzzled at the padawan, hoping to encourage him back into sleep. No such luck, the boy shook the knight’s bare shoulder gently, Sherlock sighed and cracked open his eyes. John’s teddy bear had been pressed tightly between Sherlock’s neck and John’s lips, all that was visible of John’s face were his eyes.

“I’m thirsty,” John said into his bear’s fur.

“It cannot wait until morning, John?” Sherlock asked with as much patience as he could at four in the morning. He stroked a hand through the child’s blond hair out of habit. The head shook under his palm in a rapid pace.

“Really thirsty,” the padawan whined.

With an exhausted exhale the knight scooped his padawan, bear, covers, and all up into his arms. John wrapped himself in the blanket so his chest and below were cover, but his arms remained free to hold onto Sherlock’s neck. Since neither of them wearing clothes, save for their trouser shorts a blanket seemed like a good idea. The wretched brat was back to sleep before they exited their sleeping quarters, his head lolling on Sherlock’s shoulder. The knight rolled his eyes.

Sleepily, he let the Force guide him through the labyrinth of halls to a small kitchen. It must have been a slaves quarters, but it would do for the time being. Sherlock used his only available hand to search through cabinets until he found a glass, the other clutched tightly to John. “Don’t bounce so much,” John commanded.

“Yes, Master,” Sherlock grumbled tiredly.

He set John on a counter top and stroked the blond hair gently to coax him not to fall off. John cooed. Content that the boy would not fall, he turned to fill the cup with water. Sherlock passed it back to John and was forced to accept John’s bear. The padawan chugged softly.

“Sip, little one. You will make yourself sick,” Sherlock scolded.

“Okay,” John said with only half awareness.

Sherlock tapped the boy’s nose, the sleepiness made him look incredibly young. In the past he had shoved down his feelings for the boy, especially when they had first encountered each other. But they had been together for almost a year, and it was getting harder to deny his care for his padawan. Sherlock pulled the blankets away from John’s shoulder and examined the healed wound, it had not yet settled into white lines. Sherlock grimaced at the angry red welts and recovered it with the fabrics.

“Little one,” Sherlock said softly, nudging his forehead against John’s.

“’m sleepily,” John whispered.

“Back to bed then,” Sherlock said lightly. He reached for his protégé carefully, fully ready to heave the boy into the air. John touched his shoulder where his master had previously laid his fingers.

“I’m okay, Master. Really.”

Sherlock touched the boy’s cheek, his fingers gently traced over his cheeks and ears. They drew over the padawan’s eyes and made him giggle into his cup. “Slow,” Sherlock commanded tenderly as John gulped back water again. John gave an obedient nod.

Sherlock chuckled as the boy continued to guzzle anyway.

“Little one, slower,” Sherlock said warmly. He enjoyed their nights together, John seemed so much younger, and his mentor adored him for it. These were quiet times, precious times, made to remind the young Jedi how fast time would travel. One day, in years to come, John would outgrow quiet times, as Sherlock had eventually. John gave a small sneeze as the water sloshed up his nose, Sherlock chuckled fondly. His bratling smiled a wide, childish grin, revealing his loss of baby teeth.

Because of one of his many stories, John had been convinced that burying the tooth would achieve a prize of some kind under his pillow. Sherlock, not yet willing to let the childish innocence vanish, had placed John’s favorite sweet under it. The boy had swaggered around their quarters all day, smug that his master had been wrong to call him foolish. Sometimes it was a good thing to be seen as someone who wouldn’t stoop to such childlike games. John would never suspect him of indulging him. Sherlock pressed his forehead to John’s, crossing his arms as he leaned in close.

“Stop growing,” he ordered firmly.

“Nah-ah,” the fledgling smirked and promptly swallowed his water noisily again.

Sherlock snickered, “Your manners would appall Mycroft, little one.”

His padawan beamed.

“Our water comes from the finest spring on the mountain, it must be delicious,” a female voice said behind them.

Sherlock, out of instinct, reached for a saber no longer attached to his hip. The Force calmed him, assuring that the woman before them was not a threat. Not yet at least. John’s little eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got purple robes, like Master Mycroft,” he said unsurely. “Are you important too?”

Sherlock snorted, apparently prompting John to pinch him. The knight rolled his eyes down to a child whose admiration should have been focused on him. Bitterly he starved the jealousy in his chest. Mycroft was important to John, it was important for John to have a relationship with him. If something were to happen to Sherlock his will indicated that John would handed over to his brother. The elder Jedi had no clue, Sherlock was in mood for him to try and reforge their brothership. He damn well tried enough on this trip.

Sherlock turned his eyes from the woman dressed in purple. Given her robes and regal presence it was not hard to deduce who she was. John reached for him with a swift plea to be picked up sent over their bond. Sherlock scooped the boy up, avoiding all eye contact with the High Lady. John, however, was blissfully arrogant.

Some days the padawan could be justifiably disowned.

“Does the robes mean something?” Jon said curiously. “Master got pretty miffed off when they gave me white robes. And he doesn’t like the blue ones.”

“He doesn’t? Did he explain why not?” the woman said patiently.

“John,” Sherlock attempted to cut in, only to be ignored by his child.

“No,” John’s nose wrinkled. “He mostly pitched a fit about the white tunics, and how Master Mycroft wouldn’t let me switch.”

“Little one,” Sherlock said with more urgency this time. John faltered and looked upwards into his master’s eyes.

“What?”

“You are speaking to the High Lady, try not use the phrase “pitched a fit” in front of a favored politician.”

John wiggled against him, pushing backwards to look into Sherlock’s eyes accusingly. “Could have said something,” the boy pouted. “I wouldn’t have said that.” John a paused a moment. “You’re in your underpants, Master.”

Kriff it all.

Sherlock frowned down at his legs, immediately thankful that his brand was covered, but still very much aware that his scars weren’t. He had hated them as a child and grew physically ill when he caught himself in the mirror. Once, in a fit of rage, he smashed the mirror in his master’s room, succeeding in slashing his arm. Bleeding and afraid he hid in his teacher’s closet, but the trail of blood gave away his position.

Lestrade had not been angry.

Instead he pulled off his tunics and turned his back to Sherlock, revealing long scars of his own. He even had a long one running down his chest, from heart to hip, that Sherlock’s torso would later mirror.

_“Everybody has scars, Curly,” Lestrade had explained softly._

_“Not like mine,” Sherlock cried. “Not as many as me.”_

_Lestrade held him closely, stroking a calming hand through his hair. “You scars are now mine, little guy. Every ounce of pain you’ve ever experienced in your life is now mine. Let me help carry you through this.”_

_“I don’t want you to have my pain,” Sherlock murmured._

_“Tough.”_

“Wait,” John said slowly, his face breaking into a grin, “you talked to me!” He tugged excitedly at Sherlock’s ear. “We can negotiate!”

The woman gave a small, sad smile, her eyes fluttered briefly to Sherlock’s face. “Tomorrow morning, little Jedi. I have just finished preparing for you.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Wizard,” he breathed and snuggled deeply against Sherlock’s neck, already falling back into slumber.

“Little one, say thank you,” Sherlock scolded. “Little-John! Force’s sake.” He shook the child gently, John’s blue eyes peeked up at him.

“Stop it, Master,” he said sleepily.

“You must say “thank you”, I cannot speak to-”

“Thank you,” John said politely, closing his eyes once more. The boy was never too tired for manners before. With a low bow, Sherlock exited with his child held close.

Why did the woman’s sharp gaze make him feel like a scolded youngling?

 

oOo

 

It had been a quick call to Moriarty.

He had seemed extremely interested in Jovian’s son, more so than his grandson. His hands twisted together in excitement and even through the hologram she could see his eyes gleam. The image flickered.

“You want me to take the boy, but what of the son?” he asked with a wicked grin. “That’s the one I truly want, keep the boy as an alter slave for all I care.”

Laila’s eyes narrowed. “You have never denied a child before.”

The smirked slid from the Sith’s face. “He is different. Too much of his grandfather in him for his own good.”

“Sherlock was Jovian’s spit, and you accepted him,” Laila snapped. Moriarty leaned forward with a sneer.

“That is not the grandfather that concerns me.”


	16. Chapter 16

"I am sending you a treat, Laila."

She folded her arms, completely unamused by the Sith Lord's constant calls. The cub would be entering momentarily, and it was enraging being told that he would not be taken away from his lineage. All of Jovian's legacy had been separated from their parents, there was truly no reason this cub should be an exception. She eyed the Sith warily.

"Since the Jedi have sent your oldest child to persuade you to their cause, I shall send your youngest son to insure you come to mine," Moriarty sneered. "Perhaps I shall even release him back to your custody."

Laila frowned a moment. "Mycroft is unaware of the position I hold at this temple, he was sent for Jovian's benefit, not mine. I see that as an insult already."

"I will send Sherlock to you at once," Moriarty said sweetly. "I only ask one favor."

There was a brief flicker of rebellion in the elder women's eyes. "And that is?"

"That cub you wanted to gift me with, I want him killed. The man he travels with, his father, is a bastard himself. Bastards can sire bastards, Laila. I only ask you to enforce your law and send his father to me for correction."

Moriarty had never been a stickler for any of their laws, in fact she did not believe him to follow any laws. The idea that the Sith wanted any rule upheld in the name of justice was an oddity that raised sufficient alarm. The cub's father must have been an old enemy if Moriarty was so hells bent on destroying his life.

"The boy…is only a fledgling. He did not ask to born of his father…"

"That is my request," Moriarty said simply.

A long time ago she had given her youngest up to this man, and in doing so had given a bit of herself to him as well. Both her and her baby had gained a dominus that atrocious day. There was no other way to see her precious one than be obedient, she could find no out. Slowly she nodded. What was Jovian's grandson to her?

"Send my youngest child to me," she agreed.

oOo

Mycroft could sense that he still had some power over his baby brother.

A small inkling of will that could be used against him if need be, on rare occasions. Sherlock would even seek him out willingly at times, wanting to rant or even desiring comfort. Those moments were the scarcest of all, the last having been only after Lestrade's passing. Sherlock had allowed a brief embrace at his master's funeral and proceeded to clutch Mycroft's shoulders tightly.

Selfishly he had hoped it would build back the bridge of their kinship. But Sherlock had rarely been seen in the years between Lestrade's death and John's arrival. Only when Mycroft had entered the youngling's quarters had his little brother been present. He was tending to some of the children he had helped rescued years earlier.

He had not wanted to speak with his elder brother.

And yet this morning was one of oddities as Sherlock sought him out, head dipped downward as if he could will the need to speak away. He knelt across from Mycroft, who was deeply meditating and only knew of his approach through ripples in the Force, as his eyes were shut. Mycroft inhaled deeply.

"Yes?"

He could practically sense the scowl that passed over his brother's face, Mycroft smirked. Ever the impatient child. His brother had never been quick to seek anyone other than his mentor out. Aside from the boy, of course.

"I have concerns about allowing John to proceed with this," Sherlock said frankly. "They accepted us far too quickly. The High Lady should have never agreed to speak with a male of any kind, any age. I sense a trap."

"As do I, brother mine, and yet I am not panicking," Mycroft said calmly. "We will let John make his attempts and should any situations arise we will protect him if need be."

"You had better not be using my padawan as bait, Mycroft."

Mycroft released a steadying sigh. Honestly, where had his brother come with such an idea?

"I simply desire the opportunity to at least try and save this planet, Sherlock. It is our-"

"It is not my home," Sherlock said firmly. "I would rather be from Mustafar than here."

Another inhale.

"Peace, Sherlock," Mycroft said calmly. "It will be productive to the Republic to keep this planet under our control."

An exhale.

"It is not worth saving," Sherlock mumbled angrily.

Mycroft frowned, but elected to ignore the hateful tone and inhaled deeply. To his surprise Sherlock's breathing mirrored his own. Mycroft opened his eyes briefly to see his little brother had taken a meditating posture and closed his own eyes.

Mycroft closed his own once more.

"I worry for John," Sherlock confided. "If they are cruel to him…"

Mycroft shamelessly added a bit of Force suggestion to his next words. Not nearly enough for Sherlock to sense, but enough for obedience. "Breathe, be still."

Sherlock exhaled in time with his older brother. Mycroft could feel the younger man's anxiousness fill the air and stale it. Mycroft pushed some of his own confidence into the Force, hoping Sherlock would latch to it.

The inhaled together.

Sherlock calmed slightly.

"I have bargained for his safety," Mycroft said serenely. "They will not hurt him, I swear to you."

Mycroft was surprised to feel the Force twist in worry once more. He could feel his little brother's eyes sweeping over his face, trying to deduce what could not be seen. Mycroft frowned at the loss of connection. "Close," he said sternly.

He heard the irritated sign, but felt the Force sing back with submission.

A brief flicker of concern filled Mycroft's chest. Sherlock was being far to compliant, had something happened?

A mirrored exhale.

"What did you bargain with?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Nothing relevant to John's task," Mycroft assured.

"It is if it is keeping him safe, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. The Force rippled with aggressive worry, causing Mycroft to flinch slightly before retaking his place. They both inhaled deeply.

"It is keeping both of you safe, Sherlock," Mycroft said with less calm than before.

"I can keep John safe," Sherlock hissed. Their psyches locked in combat as they often did when arguing together.

"Then I do it in the hopes of your safety," Mycroft snarled.

"Do what?" Sherlock asked heatedly.

"You needn't know!"

Sherlock audibly growled but did not open his eyes, Mycroft stiffened in his place.

"What is the price of the High Lady's kindness?" Sherlock shortly.

Mycroft remained mute, the only noise was a deep inhale.

Sherlock mirrored him.

"Brother," Sherlock said much quieter than before. "John had a vision of you being branded in the arm by the women of this distressing place. At the very least say that you did not promise them that…"

An exhale together.

"I promised them I would show them loyalty if in turn they would show us curtesy," Mycroft said softly. "I know not what that entails, but it will be carried out to the best of my ability."

"You mustn't allow them to brand your skin, Mycroft," Sherlock said fiercely. "Demand they select something different, but do not-"

"If I do not comply there is no guarantee that you and John will remain unharmed. I will do as they will," Mycroft said decidedly.

"Because you do not understand," Sherlock bit out sourly. "I will accompany you, if the command a brand be used, they may do it on my skin. At least then it will not stick."

They both inhaled as one.

"No," Mycroft drawled. "You will not."

"Myc-"

"You may accompany me if necessary, but you will not take what I have promised. Or you will not come at all," Mycroft ruled.

"I am not a padawan to be scolded or threatened," Sherlock snapped.

"No, but you are a knight, and I a master," Mycroft reminded coolly.

Another exhale.

"I remember," Sherlock said snidely. "Your rank was never something you allowed me to forget."

Mycroft physically flinched at the reminder of the past. It hurt that Sherlock would still allow such a gap grow between them because of Mycroft's mistakes. The elder man sighed heavily and at last opened his eyes fully, Sherlock was already glaring at him. Carefully, Mycroft pondered his next words.

"I beg your forgiveness every time you bring that up, Sherlock. How many more times must I ask it of you? Would you prefer me to kowtow this time?" Mycroft retorted half-heartedly.

Because his brother's face already spoke the answer.

Never. He would never be forgiven for what he had done.

Sherlock twisted his face away, lip tucked between teeth. He inhaled deeply.

And turned surprised when Mycroft mirrored him.

The older man arranged his knees under himself and bent low at the waist. His head bowed low next to his outstretched arms on the floor, his hands drew into next to his face. Humility was a Jedi's greatest lesson, one that would be taught over their lifetime and not just in their apprenticeship. Mycroft kowtowed before his little brother with grace and mirrored his breathing perfectly.

It was a stance often taken be padawan's to honor their teachers. Certainly not to be taken by a master to a lesser rank. Sherlock hesitated visibly, before rising swiftly. "Do not let them brand you," Sherlock snapped and turned on his heel to find John.

Mycroft did not rise from his position until the door slammed close. Slowly, painfully he straightened his back. His hand massaged slow circles at it's base until the cramping ceased. It was evident his youth was leaving him. With a small exhale he stared at the closed door.

"Forgive me, Sherlock," he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Having a hard time deciding if I should reveal what Mycroft has done to Sherlock before the actual show does. Was wondering what the readers thought? Feel free to leave your vote in the reviews or PM me! May the Force be with you! -HM


	17. Chapter 17

"How old is the cub?"

The question took Sherlock off guard for a moment, his attention had been focused on his padawan, as once more John had distracted him by running too far ahead. They were strolling through the temple gardens, specially designed to imitate the warmer climates, even the roofs above were designed to shine as the sun would. John was thoroughly enjoying the tropical temperatures and plants after days of snow and ice. Sherlock had explained how as the mothers of the planet, the priestesses kept all sorts of medical herbs at hand, and therefore needed such a garden.

Sherlock turned to the young maiden who eyed John fondly. He stuffed his arms in their adjacent sleeves with a short huff. "Nine standard," he said quietly.

"You speak in basic to him?" the maid questioned gently. It was assumed John was Gorian, speaking in basic to him would be looked on as unnatural. Unfortunately John did not enjoy the Gorian language as much as he had Tatooine's native tongue.

Sherlock hesitated. "We are Jedi, he has only learned the languages of planets visited. He already has a firm grasp of the Gorian language, but he isn't ready to…John!"

The blond head whipped backwards, a small frown etched over John's brows. The idiot child had been leaning over a plant known to cause temporary paralysis with the childish desire to touch it plain in his eyes. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he chided the boy for being too reckless. John walked to him, tail between his legs, and his head bowed.

"I wasn't going to touch it," the young Jedi scowled.

Sherlock quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at the scolded youngling and sighed dramatically. "You reached for it, padawan."

The boy looked up at him through wide eyes and gave a small head tilt. "Not to touch, Master, to feel, with the Force. There is another property to it," John said shyly. "A healing one."

Sherlock's face softened as he knelt before his padawan slowly. Brilliant boy, remarkably strong with the Force. At that age, Sherlock had been discouraged from reaching into the Force and now paid for it by lacking in its gifts. It would not bring him data as it did for John, that he had to learn on his own. "Bring it here," he encouraged gently. "Carefully, little one, mind the thorns."

John brightened and rushed to the pick up the indigo colored plant and ran back to Sherlock, not nearly as cautiously as his master would have preferred. John shoved the plant into Sherlock's arms and stepped back with an air of pride. The plant did indeed have a hidden healing power to it, but it was far too faint for a Jedi to be able to sense without help, let alone a youngling. Sherlock smirked, but of course his padawan could feel it.

"Is it in the petals, Master?" the boy questioned delicately.

"The roots," Sherlock said proudly. "Center yourself. Use your instinct to collect the data."

John took the plant back with far more care, his fingers splayed over the pot's base. Gingerly, he twisted it around in his hands with a small frown. "The rest is really poisonous…isn't it?"

"As you should in life, John, mind the thorns," Sherlock instructed tenderly.

John bowed low at the lesson and returned the plant to its proper home. The padawan waited until Sherlock had risen and placed a broad hand on his shoulder before speaking. "Where is Mycroft?"

Sherlock stiffened slightly. "He is-"

"Running late," the master appeared at Sherlock's side suddenly, looking surprisingly winded and ruffled. John was casting him an odd look of apprehension. "My apologies."

"You were not available at breakfast as we had discussed," Sherlock hissed quietly. "You said we would speak on the matter at hand, Mycroft. You agreed not to be branded, you gave your word you would tell the priestesses about your refusal."

"Why do you think I was late?" Mycroft snapped heatedly. "It has resolved itself, leave me be, Sigerson."

The tone surprised even Sherlock. Mycroft rarely ever snapped, even towards his younger brother. They would often argue and disagree verbally with one another, but Mycroft had never been so blatantly angered, nor quick to lose his calm. It was one of the few things Sherlock was grateful for.

"Master Mycroft, I found something interesting about this plant. See it-"

Mycroft strode ahead without so much as a glance at John, and the padawan watched him go in silence. They had been growing closer, Mycroft was becoming far too important to John for the Jedi to ignore him. He was highly respected in John's eyes, as he once been in Sherlock's. Now the elder Holmes seemed as distance and cold, a memory Sherlock was all too familiar with. John would not be going through the same torments as Sherlock had once endured.

"Master?" John asked quietly as a maiden began herding them into the great hall. "Have I…did I do something wrong?"

Blast Mycroft to the nine hells.

oOo

Mycroft wouldn't look at him, wouldn't speak to him, and wouldn't offer words of encouragement.

He simply kept his hooded head bowed and gazed intently on the High Lady. John stole a quick glance at Sherlock's face, but his master was glaring at Mycroft furiously. The padawan dipped his head downwards, not wanting to be a burden but still wanting at least one of the masters' attention. It didn't seem as though he were going to receive it though.

Master refused to stop glaring at Mycroft until the High Lady cleared her throat to address John, and it was only then that his master jumped slightly. Leave it to Sherlock to forget they were present with other people. At least the knight started to remember he had a padawan to soothe and reached out gently to scratch John's ear.

John held his breath as the High Lady began to speak.

oOo

The cub blinked up at her shyly.

He had the softest blue she had ever seen, so unlike Sherlock's and Mycroft's. There was no ice to the young Jedi's gaze, no glimpse of fear as there had been in Sherlock, no glint of mischievousness as there had been in Mycroft's. He gave the smallest of smiles as he bowed to her respectfully.

His father stroked a soft hand through his son's fair hair. The cub turned his face upwards with a small, impish grin, the young man gave his child a firm glare from beneath his hood. Customarily all men were to wear hoods in the High Lady's presence, Mycroft's sleeping face had been the first male she had seen in a long while. And then Jovian's bastard had been the second.

She hadn't even bothered to learn the young man's name, nor had she given him the courtesy of looking him in the eye. She had half hoped Mycroft would recognize her upon entering the room, but he too had his hood drawn and his eyes respectful down cast. Well that wasn't quite true.

His eyes followed the cub very closely as well.

The cub pouted up at his father, clearly not appreciating the harsh glare. The little Jedi crossed his arms in defiance and raised his eyebrows at his elder. His father scolded him with a quiet, "John".

The cub huffed, but nodded obediently to his father's will. She could see the younger man steal a glance at Mycroft, who gave a curt head tilt. She found herself wondering with a pang of jealousy if they knew each other as brothers. Her youngest should have grown up as Mycroft's baby brother, he should have learnt at his older brother's hand and sought out his attention. Instead he had been taken from all of them.

She felt her gaze turn swiftly into coldness, the younger man was staring at her from under his hood, she could feel it. She cast him her icy glare, staring at the spot where the young man's eyes were hidden beneath his hood. To her surprise, the Jedi flinched and withdrew his stare.

"Come, little Jedi," she ordered softly.

The fledgling looked to his father with sudden apprehension, a small hand curled tightly in the young man's blue tunics. With a small amount of hesitation the young man knelt to look at his child better, whispering basic in hushed tones. She heard a gentle, "Be very good, little one", and the knight rose away from the cub swiftly.

"I will," the little one said solemnly.

He seemed to look to Mycroft almost hopefully, but her eldest remained silent and stoic. The young head bowed in shame as he turned towards her ladies, the little one sucked in a pained breath.

"John," the knight said gently. "Yamo tee."

It was a foreign language, but one they must have been well practiced in. The cub looked up sharply, darting a glance between both masters in fear. The young man reached out to cup his child's cheek, muttering once again, "Yamo tee, be careful, padawan."

The cub opened and closed his mouth several times before at last responding, though it was sheepish at best.

"Yamo tee, Master. But I thought…"

"Go," the father said softly, giving the cub a small push. "I shall explain later."

The cub toddled forward, away from his father, and into her custody. The Jedi moved as if to call his child back briefly, but stilled himself at the last moment. She relished at the look that passed over the young man's face, at least what was visible, it was as if torture was being performed on him. His eyes cut to his companion's once more.

The Jedi ground his teeth together.

oOo

"A word," Sherlock said commandingly, taking his brother's arm tightly.

Mycroft's body tensed in clear preparation for a fight, but Sherlock merely pulled him to a side room roughly and slammed the door closed. Sherlock leaned coolly against the now sealed door with an air of exaggerated uncaring, the elder Holmes took little notice. His arms crossed over his chest, defensively, angrily, it seemed as if Mycroft were in little mood for talking. His posture was stiffened, unsure, so unlike Mycroft it was impossible not to notice. The Force sang in a delayed warning.

Why had the Force taken so long to tell him-?

"You seem at unease," Mycroft accused quietly.

"No more than you," Sherlock replied easily. "What did the priestesses say when you declined them?"

"Naturally they were unhappy," came the snipped reply. So uncivilized. The young knight could barely cool the anger threaten to build up in him and burst forth. Patience, patience was the lesson his master strived to teach him as a boy. He would do well to honor the lesson now, especially with his brother's life hanging delicately in the balance.

"Naturally," Sherlock nodded unemotionally. "Was that your excuse for ignoring John? You were scolded?"

A muscle jumped in older Jedi's jaw as his face drew inward, a scowl gave an appearance. Sherlock sighed heavily into the uncomfortable silence and held his hands up in a surrendering fashion. Mycroft lifted an unconvinced eyebrow. There was no press against his psyche, no familiar push for control that Mycroft often omitted.

"Will you at least answer me one question without your scrutinizing gaze on me?" His patience was slipping quickly, fury was replacing it.

"Very well," the Jedi nodded his permission to continue.

"Where is Mycroft?"

The ginger imposter looked him sharply, his gaze narrowed at he analyzed the younger man carefully. Sherlock said nothing, but slowly began circling his opponent, noting as he did the changeling swallowed dryly. "What in the world are you talking-?"

"Yamo tee? Do you know what it means?" Sherlock drawled slowly, deadly. Years of practicing the art of intimidation under Lestrade came to his aid as he drew nearer to his prey. "Mycroft would. The real one, anyway."

"You're mad," the doppelganger hissed.

"Yamo tee is Tatooine for 'I love you'. Do you know what my brother would done if he had heard those words from me? Evidentially not or you would not be so near to pissing yourself," Sherlock was proud of the way his voice cut to the quick, causing the changelings little composure to slip. Sherlock crowded him until his back slammed into the wall.

"I am Mycroft Holmes," the idiot being sputtered uselessly.

Sherlock's grin was poisonous to say the least.

"You are nothing compared to Mycroft Holmes."


	18. Chapter 18

The daze that had hold of him was nearly too much to bare.

Groggily Mycroft lifted his head to take in the room, but his entire being ached from the effort and forced him to lay back down. Embarrassingly enough he wasn't even restrained to anything. The priestesses were so confident in the abilities of their drug, they had declined to even recognize him as a threat. By the Force he half hoped Sherlock would never hear of his predicament.

He had gone to refuse the priestesses demands as Sherlock had requested and was not met with pleasantries. Indeed after refusing his original promise the rest had all been blurred together. The Force was already so weak in the temple, it was nearly impossible to manipulate, even Sherlock admitted to having troubles. The boy barely seemed to notice a change, but Sherlock had mentioned John's nightmares increasing without the Force's protection.

Silently he wondered where his companions were.

He hoped the boy was alright, he seemed overly nervous only the other night. Perhaps Sherlock had managed to calm him, it shouldn't have been a difficult task for the younger man. John had the makings of a great Jedi, and Sherlock was guiding him well enough. Mycroft pondered quietly about the current state of his brother. Was his absence noticed? Had Sherlock been waiting his return from his morning meeting, or had he still been resentful of the predicament of his padawan?

Mycroft sighed, even trying to focus on thought was proving to be a hardship. The one thought he could pull through the haze that settled over him was: Sherlock would have loathed the room where Mycroft was being held.

His brother had never been one for rooms that reminded him of the healers, nor had he been one for healers in the flesh. The thought troubled him, he could remember a time long ago when Sherlock was ten and afraid. As seemed the pattern, Mycroft had been little help to him then.

Mycroft lay back quietly, his mind a pool of despair, not realizing as memories tugged him deeper that it was a mere side effect of the drugs to reflect on one's worst memories.

oOo

"I don't see the harm in it, Master."

Dooku paced silently in front of his padawan as Mycroft knelt respectfully at his feet. The ginger padawan had been summoned shortly after his current swim lesson with Sherlock, and the dark haired padawan was improving marvelously. Sherlock could now tread without any aid. Dooku was protesting adamantly and was shocked and appalled when it was not met with usual obedience.

Mycroft folded his hands together neatly on his lap, not wanting to seem impatient and yet feeling a strong tug of rebellion in his stomach, he hid his gaze. Dooku, however, was at a level nearly unsurpassable by any Jedi and felt the defiant quake in the Force. He seized his padawan's chin roughly, not in an abusive manner, but one used to snatch the teen's attention back to him. Dooku, for all his faults, was not an abusive master, and yet Mycroft felt himself shrink slightly in the older man's palm.

"You are to be one of the youngest knights in temple, my boy. How do you think it looks when you gallivant around with a former Sith," Dooku said coldly.

"He is just a boy," Mycroft replied, surprised with his own mutiny. "He cannot swim, Master, and he is afraid to ask anyone else because they mock him cruelly already. I am not attempting to bond with him, merely guide him."

"You must put it out of mind," Dooku said and released his padawan's chin. "If you desire a padawan you shall have one when you are knighted. No more lessons, no more lunches, keep away from the child. I will not have my lineage muddled because you feel pity for a Sith."

Mycroft nearly rose to his feet in anger, but was still by a harsh glare from his master. The teen bowed his head. "I will dial back my visits with him, but I will not stop his lessons, nor will I decline him company if he seeks me out at meals."

"Mycroft," Dooku seethed.

"Master," Mycroft rose with an elegant bow. He dismissed himself with a silent nod and strode pass the master without a backward glance.

His rankings in temple were important to him, as was the rare praise of his master, but he could not be cruel to a child in order to place himself higher. It was not his way, nor was it the temple's way. Though perhaps Dooku was right, he should slow his visits with Sherlock. The boy padded behind him far too much when Lestrade was unavailable. One of the other Sith's children, who was one of Sherlock's companions rescued, had recognized him and made attempts to speak with him. It was not a group he wanted himself associated with.

He went to the dining hall to fix himself supper.

Sherlock was not present.

He dined with some of his fellows in silence, every now and then electing to make conversation with them, but only halfheartedly. In truth he was no longer used to the gossip of his class, but had grown accustom to childish question flung at him every second.

Mycroft excused himself after barely touching any food. Sherlock would usually help himself to Mycroft's portions anyway.

A Rodian padawan reached out to catch his arm none too gently. "Missing your little padawan?" the older teen sneered. "Not such a goody goody since that Sith got here, are you Mycroft?"

He sighed heavily. Honestly.

"I find my appetite lacking in your presence, Koots. I beg your forgiveness, however you can hardly fault me for wishing to avoid such an odor as yours. Or perhaps it is your appearance, I can hardly tell which disgusts me more."

His arm was released and with a small smirk the teen strolled away.

Sherlock would have adored such an insult.

Taking a risk, and not fully wishing to return to his master, Mycroft strolled down to where Sherlock's quarters were. He stopped outside the door, there was no desire to enter and entertain Lestrade as well, but he was curious where his normal dining companion was. Without a sound, he pressed his ear to the door as he hid his Force signature.

"-really hurts though, Master," Sherlock was sniffling rather fiercely.

"I know, Curly," Lestrade's voice was firm. Gentle and worn, but still very firm. "Which is why you need to go to the healers tomorrow, it's very infected."

"But you can't come tomorrow," the boy sounded panicked. "I don't want to go without you."

"Oh, Sherlock," Lestrade said softly, tenderly. Mycroft had never heard such a tone used by a Jedi knight before. "You have met with Master Hooper, you enjoyed her company. Surely you don't require my presence with her."

"But when you're not there, they make me go to the other one." Mycroft could practically hear the childish pout. "The one with the crush on you. The mean one."

There was a beat of silence before a strong sigh. "Neither of us can miss our engagements tomorrow it seems. Sherlock, you must go. This is beginning to fester again."

"But I-"

"No more swim lessons until Master Hooper proclaims you healed," came the stern reply.

"But Master!" the panicked plea was nearly enough to inspire Mycroft to enter. "If I don't learn I can't teach the others! And what if Mycroft thinks we're not…what if he thinks I don't like him? Please, you have to let me go!"

"I have to keep you safe and healthy, Curly, that was what I promised you. And your back is infected, I fear you may have to use the bacta tank again if it progresses."

"Can't you come?" the padawan begged. "Please."

There was an unmistakable twist of guilt in the Force, but Lestrade's answer remained "no". Mycroft could feel the boy's distress.

"I shan't go then," Sherlock proclaimed stubbornly.

There was no rage in the Force as Mycroft would have expected, simply tired disappointment. Sherlock's sadness began to grow again at whatever expression Lestrade was giving him. Finally the feeling of submission came into being, Sherlock sniffed in distain.

"Would Mycroft perhaps be willing to accompany you?" Lestrade asked gently.

Mycroft surprised himself by knocking at the door in order to give a very sincere "yes".

oOo

"I do loathe repeating myself."

Sherlock held the changeling by the throat, dangling his prisoner's feet a few centimeters off the ground. Luckily the damned creature no longer resembled Mycroft and once again turned into its original form. Its olive green, leathery skin felt odd clenched in his palm, as Sherlock was not often inspired to use such violence upon anyone. "My brother is where?"

"I do not fear you," the changeling spat. "You are a Jedi, you cannot kill. You think you are more terrifying than the network Moriarty keeps, you are mistaken."

The knight's eyes flashed dangerously. If Moriarty's men had Mycroft…the interrogation was taking far too long.

A new method was needed.

oOo

Mycroft was unable to sneak pass his mentor's stern eye.

"Master," Mycroft greeted with a graceful bow, "I did not mean to disturb you."

Dooku lifted two highly unimpressed eyebrows at his padawan and motioned him to the mediation mats. Mycroft hesitated, Sherlock's appointment was soon, and he had agreed to meet him outside the ward. Carefully, Mycroft shook his head. "I have an engagement, Master. It will not take me long, if you wish to talk after."

"Mycroft, you will attend your master presently," Dooku said shortly. "We have much to discuss."

"When I have returned, Master. Please," Mycroft said tiredly.

"If you wish to visit the Sith over discussing temple matters, far be it from me to stop you," Dooku said easily. "I only desired to tell you that your knighthood is being pushed back until you are twenty-four, you are no longer on track to be knighted by twenty-two."

Mycroft became visibly flustered. "Two years? Two years because I accompany Sherlock at meals?"

"His influence is said to be strong, young one. Even at ten he is said to have amazing power over will," Dooku said calmly. "The council is worried you have fallen under his influence."

"If the council were worried about his influence they would have never accepted him as a padawan," Mycroft said angrily. "This is your idea!" It was infuriating, Dooku was going beyond his realm of power, surely he could not hold Mycroft back simply because…

"Yes. I have retracted my recommendation that you be tested early," Dooku said calmly. "As of late you have been skipping attendances with me and distracted with your Sith companion."

"You never summoned me," Mycroft said defensively, hurt bled into his speech. "I would have-"

"Unless your ways change, my padawan, my decision is final," Dooku said sternly.

oOo

"Redbeard!"

Sherlock's baritone voice carried through the whipping wind of the outside world. He had ordered his wolf to keep close, but at a respectable distance. Still it shouldn't take his wolf long to arrive. A red blur appeared on the horizon, causing Sherlock to smirk at his now bound captive. Leaning out the open window, Sherlock gave another shrill whistle before holding the changeling out by the ankles. The prisoner scrambled, desperately trying to get back inside. Sherlock allowed his grip to slip ever so slightly.

The changeling froze in terror as Redbeard snapped up greedily at him.

He could hardly spill Mycroft's location fast enough.

oOo

"But you said you would come…"

Mycroft sighed heavily at the dark haired ten year old at his side. Both padawans were standing outside the healers ward, and neither one of them seemed eager to be there. Admittedly when he had first arrived, Sherlock seemed at ease to have Mycroft with him. It was only when Mycroft explained he would not be coming that Sherlock looked panicked.

"You don't need me, Sherlock," Mycroft said without looking at his companion. "It is just a bacta rub, it isn't torture."

Sherlock openly flinched. "Please, you promised…"

Sherlock's lower lip began to tremble, like a cornered animal he backed away from Mycroft with terrified eyes. His small hands clasped behind his back and his breathing quickened to an alarming rate. The padawan sniffed quietly. "Can you at least call my master?" he all but whispered pleadingly. "I didn't bring my communicator 'cause I thought-"

"Sherlock, enough," Mycroft snapped. "Grow up. Swimming is different, you need to learn a technic. This is childish, you are too old to need a hand to hold while at a doctors. Lestrade is at a meeting with the council. He doesn't have time to come wipe your eyes, nor does he want to."

"Mycroft…" Sherlock's eyes swam with hurt, but he turned his head away to prevent Mycroft from seeing him cry.

"Childish," Mycroft sneered down at the boy. "Go to your appointment, Sherlock."

The older padawan turned away and stalked back to his quarters without a second glance back.

oOo

"No!"

Sherlock tossed the changeling into one of the maidens looming over Mycroft with a branding iron in hand. There was a painful hiss as the two rolled together. Protectively and hurriedly, Sherlock launched himself between his brother and the rest of the maidens.

Mycroft looked spent and feverish on the cot where he was laid, his eyes flickered briefly as if he could sense Sherlock's presence. Angrily Sherlock laid a soft palm over his brother's forehead, keeping his touch as gentle as he did for John when the boy was ill. A harsh fever had erupted in the master's body, trying to keep whatever drug was in his system at bay.

The priestesses began circling him, drawing weapons with an intimidating hiss. With a smirk, Sherlock decided it was time to draw his own weapon.

He let out a shrill whistle.

oOo

Sherlock was in the emergency ward unconscious and with a deadly fever.

It had been a week after he had left Sherlock alone at the healers. Apparently the boy had foolish decided not to go at all.

Mycroft ran to the healers ward, in only his pajama pants to his later embarrassment, the moment Dooku had roused him. And it hadn't been from concern for Sherlock, Dooku was worried that Lestrade could press charges against Mycroft for abstaining from taking Sherlock. Pale and out of breathe, Mycroft ran into the healers ward and skidded to a halt in front of Master Hooper.

"I was told-" Mycroft spoke between breaths, "Forgive me, I ran a great-a great distance…Sherlock? Is he alright?"

Molly looked at him in surprise. Mycroft ground his teeth together as she remained silent and glanced around the small lobby. Without waiting for an answer, Mycroft snatched Sherlock's chart from the desk and continued to sprint into the ward's hallways. The cries to "stop" were ignored. Mycroft pulled up the page on the chart.

 _Sherlock Holmes, Room 114_.

Mycroft nearly tripped over his own feet. Carefully, trying to soothe his hammering heart, he reread the name. _Sherlock Holmes_.

Sherlock had never mentioned his last name, nor Mycroft his…could it really be possible that-?

"Mycroft," Lestrade said tiredly behind him, "you need to return Sherlock's chart to Master Hooper at once. His records are private."

"Is he alright?" Mycroft said without passing over the chart. "Dooku said he was close to…" Mycroft could not make himself say the final word, could not dream of having killed his own…

"I'm sorry for the scare," Lestrade said with little emotion. "He is going to be fine, but he has an infection that made its way into his blood stream." Lestrade reached for the chart with a firm glare, but Mycroft growled audibly. Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Honestly, if another child growls at me tonight I will jump from the highest temple tower. It is forbidden for you to see, Mycroft."

"Only me?" Mycroft questioned hotly. "If one of his little friends had it, would you demand its return?"

Lestrade raised a challenging eyebrow, but to Mycroft's surprise, did not reach for it again. Instead he folded his arms as if patiently waiting for Mycroft to come to his own conclusion. With a sigh the knight nodded. "It is only forbidden for your eyes."

"Because we are not to learn of our biological families until we are eighteen?" Mycroft accused fiercely. "Sherlock is my brother. Isn't he? The next of kin even has my name listed."

This time Lestrade did stalk forward and pulled the chart from Mycroft's grip. The Force shifted, no longer was it neutral and calm. Now Lestrade's rage seeped into, causing Mycroft to step back in fear. Lestrade was an exceedingly gentle man, his anger was as rare as snow on Tatooine, which made his glare all the more horrible.

"I think a brother would have taken him to the healers instead of accusing him of being childish," Lestrade said coldly. "And in the future, I will always have time to dry a frightened child's eyes. As any good Jedi would." The knight bowed with all the elegance of a full master, and as he shoved pass the padawan his broad shoulder connected with Mycroft's and spun him painfully.

Mycroft glared down at his hands for a long while before he decided it was time to return to his quarters. Sherlock was unconscious anyway, a visit would prove fruitless.

He would find a different way to apologize.

oOo

Redbeard nuzzled at his cheek affectionately.

Sherlock was pulling thick clumps of snow off the beasts back and placing them at key points over Mycroft's body. It was beginning to cool the fever, but the drug was still present in his system. The changeling was assisting him. Surprisingly.

"What is your name?" Sherlock asked quietly as the he was handed another bit of snow. He crushed it in a rag he had found lying in the room. Slowly he dabbed it over Mycroft's face and neck, his brother groaned.

The changeling looked to the pile of unconscious women before clearing his throat carefully. "Wiggins, sir."

"Wiggins," Sherlock said with a small nod. "What is a changeling doing in Moriarty's company?"

"Moriarty has many changelings in his company, sir. It's how controls people, sir. The High Lady here lost a son to Moriarty some years back, and he's been making a changeling speak to her at least once a year in her son's skin. It's how he gets her to do his bidding."

"And what position do you serve here? The priestesses are aware that you are a changeling, why would they need you?" Sherlock said interestedly. Wiggins passed him some water. Sherlock tested it a bit himself before deeming it acceptable and once more moved to Mycroft's side. Carefully he took the bigger man's shoulders and adjusted his weight so Mycroft was cradled carefully in his arm and his head balanced against Sherlock's chest.

Blast the idiot for being so heavy.

Sherlock managed to coax some water down Mycroft's throat until his brother's eyes fluttered again. "Mycroft," Sherlock said as if to command his brother back into awareness. But it had the opposite effect, as Mycroft's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped into Sherlock's shoulder. Mycroft never listened.

"I was a gift," Wiggins said as though pained. "To show an alliance was made. Changelings are valuable, and these women have an easier time enslaving males."

Sherlock tightened his grip on Mycroft's shoulder as if to protect him from an unseen force. It went unnoticed by Wiggins, but Sherlock chided himself at the momentary lapse. It was because he had seen the brand meant for his brother, Mycroft was a gift to the High Lady as well. The git actually thought he could be branded and still leave with his dignity intact. But a brand did have its consequences between owner and slave, once branded there was a bond. Wanted or no. Sherlock persuaded more water into Mycroft's mouth.

"Don't know why they wanted the Jedi though," Wiggins pondered aloud. "Either one of you would be too strong to control."

"This temple," Sherlock explained swiftly, "is draining some of our strength. It is why I didn't realize who you were immediately."

"Is that how they took him down? Poor fellow, they clubbed him pretty good over the head," Wiggins said easily. "Didn't scare him or nothing though, he just sort of kept fighting. Right until they got the needle in his neck."

Sherlock frowned at that, but this time managed to refrain from pulling his brother closer. "Do you know what is in his system? How long will he be like this?"

The fever had cooled, Mycroft no longer was groaning at every sudden bump, his brow was beginning to relax slight, but he was not anywhere near conscious. Sherlock continued dabbing carefully at his forehead, keeping his focus solely on Mycroft. The room was not a pleasant one, and Sherlock found himself loathing its resemblance to the healers ward.

"I dunno what it's called, but he'll be out for a while," Wiggins replied, far more at ease with his captor.

"Damn it, Mycroft," Sherlock swore to his brother. "We need to retrieve John."

Sherlock highly doubted they would hurt his padawan in the presences of the High Lady, and their bond was strong. If John required assistance he would call. Still with Mycroft unconscious Sherlock was now in charge of their mission.

And it was pass time to go home.

oOo

Sherlock returned for his swim lesson four days after he was released from the emergency ward.

Mycroft had his bare feet dipped in the pool and sat deep in thought. Sherlock strode up behind him, practically in silence save for a small clearing of the throat. Mycroft scooted to make room for his little brother, his eyes trained on the clear liquid. Dooku, the council, and Lestrade had forbidden him from telling Sherlock of their relations. The padawan would learn when he turned eighteen and not before. Sherlock sat at Mycroft's side.

"Master Donovan said I have been causing you grief," Sherlock said bitterly. "She said they might not let you test anymore 'cause you take care of me."

Mycroft pulled himself from his thoughts and looked over at his fully clothed companion. Sherlock was not wearing his wet suit, nor did he have his usual excited expression. He looked exhausted, miserable, and incredibly tiny.

"You struggle to swim in wet suit, Sherlock. You will hardly be able to manage it in tunics. Go change," Mycroft order nonchalantly.

"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me," Sherlock said shortly. "So no more lessons and no more lunches. I'll sit with my master or my clan."

Honestly, he was far too serious for his age. True there was some repercussions to his visit with Sherlock, Mycroft had no intention of kicking him to the curb. Nor did it trouble him to help care for the boy.

"Go and change into your suit, or I shall throw you into the pool tunics and all," Mycroft smirked down at his current swimming pupil. "And then you can explain to Master Lestrade how you broke your third training saber this month."

"Mycroft," Sherlock said seriously, "I'm used to it. I'm used to people being cruel and cold, but you're not, so I can't ask you to go through that for me."

The older padawan sighed.

To Sherlock's obvious shock, Mycroft swept him up and set the boy on his hip. Mycroft stalked into the changing rooms and at once sat his brother on a bench. Without looking backwards Mycroft began shuffling through Sherlock's locker and thrust the suit at him. Sherlock glared up at him defiantly.

"Or I really can throw you into the pool," Mycroft threatened. "Change and be back at the pool in two minutes, Sherlock. We are late enough."

Sherlock bowed his head over the fabric and sniffled. "But I'm-"

"Doing at least one lap by yourself as punishment for being late," Mycroft scolded with no bite.

Sherlock gave a tearful nod and a small "Yes, Mycroft".

"And I expect you to still join me at lunches if you so desire," Mycroft said firmly.

"Yes, Mycroft."

"And pay no heed to what anyone says about my testing. That falls on Master Dooku's shoulders and the councils. Not Master Donovan's."

"Yes, Mycroft."

Mycroft went back out to wait in the pool area and redunked his feet in the water. Sherlock came out moments later, prepared but hesitant. Mycroft fit him with a life preserver and began teaching him the basic movements of the stroke. Sherlock had already mastered the tread, now they need to move forward. Sherlock kicked away from him after a few verbal instructions.

"Well done, Sherlock," Mycroft called as Sherlock reached the other side.

"And here I thought you were actually going to obey me," Dooku said behind him.

"Master," Mycroft greeted without taking his eyes from Sherlock as the boy paddled back to him. "I was not expecting you."

"I gathered," the master said coolly. "Still you said if I had summoned you during one of these ridiculous lessons you would come. Consider this my summons."

"Master," Mycroft turned to him carefully, "an hour, please. He has been through much these past few days, let him-"

"I am summoning you not him. He may stay in the pool as long as he likes, but you will attend me," Dooku commanded.

Mycroft shook his head. "No. I will not. I have promised him I would teach him, and you have made me break a promise already. If this continues my word will be worth nothing."

Dooku raised an eyebrow. "If your point were not so valid, my padawan, I would command you out. Very well, have your hour with the boy."

"My thanks," Mycroft said dryly and returned his attention to Sherlock.

He never managed to verbally apologize to his brother for his words, but the lack of an apology did not seem to trouble Sherlock. The boy continued, as he promised, to seek Mycroft out daily.

And Mycroft managed to endure the ridicule of his peers.

At least for eight years he did.

oOo

"Sherlock," Mycroft slurred.

Sherlock started and reached for the water once more, which Wiggins passed it carefully. Sherlock made his brother drink before allowing him to speak once more.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said softly once more. "I'm…" The older Jedi's eyes fluttered.

"Stay awake, Mycroft," Sherlock ordered gently. "Drink more, come now."

Obediently his brother drank until Sherlock realized he had used his curse by mistake. Mycroft was weaker now and would actually heed him if Sherlock was not careful. The knight pulled the bottle away from his brother's mouth.

"Sorry," Mycroft said far away. "I'm sorry I didn't take you to the healers." The last bit was said as a whisper, as Mycroft had broken a solemn oath once. Or perhaps he was simply that weak at the moment.

"We were children," Sherlock said with a shrug, he could barely remember it as it was. Though it was highly concerning that Mycroft was apologizing for anything. The drug must have been taking a higher toll than anticipated. Sherlock adjusted himself until Mycroft looked a bit more comfortable, the knight sighed. "You need to wake fully, Mycroft. I can allow you to rest for only a short while longer, John is growing anxious."

Mycroft's head slumped back against shoulder with a dramatic thud. Sherlock shook him gently.

"Mycro-"

A cry of pure terror flashed across his bond. John was panicked, nearly enraged. Sherlock shook Mycroft more urgently, he would not let John be hurt nor taken. But he couldn't leave his brother behind in such a weak state.

_Master!_

"Sherlock," Mycroft groaned.

Kriff everything.


	19. Chapter 19

(A little earlier)

John was doing fine for his first mission alone, thank you very much.

The boy stood as tall as his small legs would allow him, his back was as straight as either of his masters' would have been, and he most certainly was not going to scratch the itch that was plaguing his nose. Not even a tiny bit. Clearly he was more than suited for such trials.

The padawan waited for the high lady to enter patiently between his two escorts. Though he wanted to speak and end the uncomfortable silence, Master Mycroft had specifically said not to speak unless spoken to. The boy straightened his back again as he felt his shoulders slump slightly with fatigue. He needed to be as stoic and calm as his master. He took a deep, soothing breath in and gave his nose a small scratch, just a tiny one.

One of the maidens above him smiled softly and passed him a small fruit from the table. John accepted it gracefully and bowed in thanks, he didn't understand why everyone tried to feed him things though. Even Master was bantha nutso about feeding at least three meals a day. Mycroft had mentioned it a few times, and Sherlock nearly bit his head off for it.

John slipped the fruit in his pocket, Mycroft had specifically said not to eat until the High Lady had taken her first bite. John folded his hands in his sleeves and continued his most patient waiting. Master really should buy him a treat after this, he was being really good after all. And Mycroft had insisted John not eat dessert, so they both owed him one.

The same maiden knelt in front of him slowly. John smiled at her as she took his hand lightly. "How old are you, sweetheart?" she asked gently.

"Nine," John said brightly, "and a half." Well almost a half…well not really, but Master wasn't there to call his bluff.

The maiden hummed thoughtfully. "I was most certain you were at least eleven."

John puffed his chest a bit more, most people thought he was six or seven, certainly not any number above his real age. It was nice to be thought of as an adult for once.

The maiden rose once more as the trumpets blared for the entrance of the High Lady. John bowed in synch with his escorts and did not straighten his back until a light hand touched his head. He grinned up at the High Lady as she nodded down at him.

"It is good to see you have such impressive manners, young one," she said almost tenderly.

John cocked his head slightly. "Master Mycroft taught me," he said carefully, giving the older master the credit, because honestly the only Gorian "manners" Sherlock had taught him was an offensive hand gesture that made Mycroft flush scarlet. "He's amazing at manners."

Well except for recently. John bowed his head a bit, Mycroft hadn't even said goodbye to him. The hand was back in his hair, encouraging to rise his gaze once more. The High Lady even surprised him by running a soft hand over his ear as Sherlock did sometimes. Fondness shown in her eyes.

"Do you care very much about Mycroft," she asked lightly.

John flushed straight to his ears. "Er…him and Master…Master and he…yes ma'am."

"I thought it was very much forbidden to have attachment as a Jedi," she motioned him to the grand table, where an even grander feast had been laid. John's mouth watered as the High Lady sat down elegantly.

"It's…complicated," John said, feeling stupid as he did so. Loving Sherlock was one thing, Sherlock was raising him as his own, but loving Mycroft had very much been an accident. John hadn't even realized it until Mycroft was teaching him how to reach the depths of the pools without drowning.

Oops.

"Little Jedi, why are you still standing?" the nice maiden asked.

"Oh!" John shook away his thoughts. "Sorry ma'am, my lady, but Master Mycroft says I can't sit without the High Lady's say so."

The High Lady looked deeply amused for only a moment before something dark crossed her face. She motioned for him to be seated. John felt a wave of unease settle over him as he seated himself across from his hostess. The Force rippled in warning, repeating Mycroft and Sherlock's earlier instructions: avoid the desserts.

Food was placed in front of him in a high pile. Meats, breads, cheeses, and fruits were all displayed before him, John picked up a meat pie with complete glee. However he did wait for the high lady to take her first few bites before he began to delve into his own, Mycroft would have been proud. Master would have snorted at John's eagerness to eat even though they were all technically still in danger. John slowed his eating slightly and glanced around the table. Mycroft's favorite fruit sat not two dishes down, and the red fruit that Sherlock had bought every time they crossed it was right next to it. John swallowed the lump in his throat.

Sherlock thought John was still slow sometimes, but the padawan had noticed Sherlock attempting to shorten his portions of food so John could have more. What the knight hadn't realized was that it evened out because Mycroft had been giving some of his portions to Sherlock. Both masters must have been hungry while John was stuffing his face. The thought caused the boy stopped eating entirely.

"I hope you do not mind, I have another guest arriving shortly," the lady said almost happily, not bothering to notice John's discomfort. The padawan remained silent, pondering quietly what to say next. The High Lady looked at him expectantly, as though waiting for a pet to do a trick. "Eat more, little Jedi. I promise not to inform your master if you decide to only eat desserts."

"Uh…that's okay," John said quietly. His heart beat heavily in his chest as he played with the corner of his meat pie. It didn't seem fair that neither master had been invited to the banquet. "Can I-? May I ask a question?"

"Of course," the Lady said cautiously.

"Wouldn't you rather speak to a Jedi master than me?" John blurted. "I mean…"

"You mean why did I decline your companions company?"

John blushed. "Yes ma'am."

"Males," the Lady said thoughtfully, "used to make the final decisions of our planet. Females had little or no say, even over our own children. So the women with a certain…prowess, decided to take matters into their own hands. We formed our own government and became far superior to the males'."

John hesitated. "According to Master Mycroft you scare the chisszk out of boys."

The Lady smirked and took a long drink from her glass. "You should have sought our help first, my little ambassador."

John reflected silently for a moment. "Mycroft didn't think you'd talk to him..."

"Correct, as High Lady I do not speak to adult males. Aside from my youngest child and his guardian," the Lady said delicately.

"Oh," John said quietly. Well that certainly didn't seem fair, but John knew better than to accuse the Lady of such misdeeds. Instead he pondered quietly, staring into the depths of his meat pie. "So you've got kids?" John tried hesitantly.

The Lady nodded solemnly. "Two boys."

John wrinkled his nose after a moment. How could a person of two sons, but not want to talk to boys? His thoughts were accidentally released into the Force, a force of habit he grown used to for Sherlock would usually sense his question and answer. The High Lady tilted her own head thoughtfully, before slowly taking another drink from her cup.

"My children were taken from me at a very young age," she explained quietly. "Men allowed my children to be taken from their mother".

John flinched inwardly at thought of his own master being taken from his mother. Sherlock rarely spoke of his imprisonment with Moriarty, and John did not press him. Slowly, uncertainly, John nodded.

"My master, he got taken away from his mother too," John said coldly. The instinct to allow hatred to dictate his speech grew, but the young Jedi snuffed out as his master had taught him. "The separatist took him from his home when he was just a kid. They made him do things, really terrible things that he won't talk about. Not with anyone…" John's voice trailed away as he tried desperately to fight of tears.

"He got rescued by the Jedi, but he was still hurt. Psychologically Master never really recovered, physically too, he's got lots of scars, but I worry more about when he cries out in his sleep than those." John wiped snot from under his nose. "That's why we want you to side with the Republic, ma'am. Not for another planet to fight with in the war, but so your kids don't have to go through what my master did. Separatist need an army, and they've been stealing padawans…they'd probably come after your kids too." John, forgetting everything Mycroft taught him, blew his nose on his sleeve. "Jedi are meant to protect people."

The Lady looked taken aback by John's sudden speech. John raised his glass to his lips, unsure of where to look. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a good or bad thing, but at least the Lady looked like she were considering what he had said. Slowly she nodded to herself. "I wish I could believe that the Jedi offer equal protection to all, little one. But it was my children's own father failed to protect them, letting one be taken by the Jedi and another by the Sith. If I cannot trust his protection why should I trust yours?"

The young Jedi choked and sputtered on his drink, causing some of the frothy liquid to rise up his nose and slosh inelegantly over the rim. Horrified John met the Gorian elder's eyes with trepidation, his hand around the cup shook. Blue eyes stared back at him.

Ice blue eyes.

Ice blue eyes, speckled with bits of gold that had the power to make him fall silent or call him to heel. His master's eyes. Mycroft's eyes.

"Wizard," the boy muttered inwardly, at once pressing down on Sherlock's half of the bond. Sherlock hushed John softly, the urgency of his own situation bled through. John yielded, he could wait to share his discovery. While Mycroft had mentioned his father working on the high council, John seriously doubted he knew about his mother.

"May I ask your sons' names," John asked, seeking confirmation. If the Lady didn't know about Master or Mycroft…but the Lady had said she had spoken to her youngest. Master Sherlock had never spoken of talking to his mother again. Sherlock had grown to look up to Grandpa Lestrade as a parent, he had not needed his mother. Had he?

The Lady's eyes twinkled dangerously. "No, little Jedi. That is not information you require."

"My apologies," John said cautiously. "But I-"

Perhaps he would reveal his thoughts and sway the Lady into at least speaking with Sherlock. The knight would be a better diplomat than John, a nine year old could not compete with the wisdom of a Jedi knight. Surely she would rather-

A group of maidens pushed open the large dining room halls, a tall, dark figure stood in the center of their crowd as they strode the high lady with grace. John felt frustration at the interruption, but sat quietly as the women parted to reveal their new guest. The figure strode forward slowly and knelt slowly at the Lady's feet, bowing his head low. He was dressed completely in black, a cape of similar cloth hid his lengthy frame beneath it.

"Mother," he said, using the deep voice that had often lured John to sleep or chided him when he was being reckless. Though this version sounded far colder and far less likely to tell stories to make a child sleep.

"Sherlock," the Lady said tenderly, resting a hand on the slicked back hair where curls should have sat. "I have missed you, my son."

"And I you," the Sherlock doppelganger said while raising his head.

Blood red eyes with a dark tint turned to John in slow fashion, making the child's blood turn cold. "I see you have a guest, Mother."

Disgusted, enraged, and in complete terror John reached for his Sherlock across their shared bond.

Kriff everything.


End file.
